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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039117">great vices do appear</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis'>violaceum_vitellina_viridis</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>wanton boys are we [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aftercare implied, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Axii, BDSM, Blindfolds, Bondage, Boot Worship, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Butt Plugs, Choking, Cock Warming, Come Eating, Come Swallowing, Come play, Cult of Kate, Daddy Dom Vesemir, Daddy Kink, Dirty Talk, Dom Vesemir, Double Penetration, Double Penetration in One Hole, Enthusiastic Consent, Excessive use of pet names, Exhibitionism, Face Slapping, Face-Fucking, Free Use, Gangbang, Lingerie, M/M, Marking, Mild Humiliation, Mild Pain Kink, Mind Control, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Overstimulation, Pain Kink, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Safeword Use, Safewords, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys, Shameless Smut, Slut Jaskier | Dandelion, Smut, Spanking, Stockings, Sub Jaskier | Dandelion, Temperature Play, Top Eskel (The Witcher), Top Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Top Lambert (The Witcher), Triple Penetration, Vesemir fucks, Voyeurism, Witchersexual Jaskier | Dandelion, igni, sensory play</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 09:20:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>40,203</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25039117</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/violaceum_vitellina_viridis/pseuds/violaceum_vitellina_viridis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Jaskier has to admit that while this is not the lowest he’s been, it’s…not his best, either.</i> </p><p>Jaskier meets Vesemir in a no-name tavern. Fun (and filthy) adventures ensue.</p><p>Mind the tags, y'all - this is porn.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion/Lambert, Jaskier | Dandelion/Vesemir</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>wanton boys are we [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1847614</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>193</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>946</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Ashes' Library, Blame Kate For This Fic, Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/crateofkate/gifts">crateofkate</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>y'all. y'all. mind the t a g s. this is exactly what it says on the tin. absolute, total filth. </p><p>you can thank (or blame?) my lovely, wonderful, incredible kate for this - as usual. also, thank you so much to my lovely shannon ( <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/childoffantasy/pseuds/childoffantasy">childoffantasy</a> ) and equally lovely fishie ( <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_about_the_fish/pseuds/what_about_the_fish">what_about_the_fish</a> ) for the beta!</p><p>happy birthday, babe. love you so much i could puke rainbows.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jaskier has to admit that while this is not the lowest he’s been, it’s…not his best, either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s in a tavern in…Pevri? He’s not certain, actually, of the town’s name; it’s a small place, barely more than a village, about a dozen miles or so east of Daevon. But it has a tavern, and an inn (in the same establishment, but still), and short of finding his way to one of the isolated shepherd villages at the base of the Blue Mountains, it’s about as far as he can possibly get from Kerack at the moment. Which means that it’s ideal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Aside from the fact the ale tastes like piss and the whole building reeks of horseshit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’s ignoring that. He’s away from his parents and the stuffy expectations of both nobility and academia; he’s got his lute, and a pack with a few changes of clothes; and, best of all, he hasn’t been run out of this place for his singing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They…didn’t really appreciate his singing, no. But they didn’t run him out, and he’d been given a meal out of pity, so. It’s definitely not the lowest he’s been (that would be the three nights he spent blackout drunk after his ill-advised one-night stand with Valdo), and at current, that’s enough of a blessing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s only when he’s about halfway through his meal that he realizes he’s being watched. Not an altogether unfamiliar sensation, for him – obviously, he’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, current problems with popularity notwithstanding – but it is a little unpleasant to experience when he’s not performing. He doesn’t do anything, at first, just notes the fact. It isn’t until he’s finished his dinner, and three more piss-tasting ales (alcohol is alcohol, really), that he looks up to try and find his audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He spots him immediately. It’s not hard at all – the man is hardly being subtle. In fact, the man is leaned back in a corner, looking straight at him with seemingly no compunction for breaking normal social rules. And that would unsettle Jaskier, really, except he quickly notices something very important about this man.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Witcher.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes are practically luminous in the odd, flickering firelight of the torches, alternating gold and cat-yellow, and the swords at his side glint as much as his irises. He’s clearly older – what that means for Witchers, Jaskier couldn’t say – but his hair is gray and there are wrinkles on his face. He holds himself with a sort of quiet confidence, something Jaskier knows is born from a long time of </span>
  <em>
    <span>having</span>
  </em>
  <span> confidence. (He’s seen it plenty before; he…has a taste for older men, if he’s being honest.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher sees that he’s been caught, and instead of – well, doing anything Jaskier has seen people do when they’re caught staring (looking away, smirking), he…smiles. It’s genuine, and Jaskier is struck suddenly by the realization that the Witcher is actually rather handsome, especially for…well, a clearly older man – mutant? Jaskier’s…not sure on that, actually, what Witchers </span>
  <em>
    <span>prefer</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be called, just that he’s certainly heard some nasty rumors and nastier names.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Beside the point. This Witcher is still smiling at him, and Jaskier is just tipsy enough to throw caution to the wind. He grabs another two ales and marches across the tavern to the corner table this Witcher has all to himself, setting them down and then dropping into a chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have a review?” Jaskier asks, because it’s an easy icebreaker. “Three words or less.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher’s smile changes a little, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sharpens</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Jaskier represses a shiver. “Three words isn’t much of a review,” he says, and takes the ale Jaskier pushes toward him. “And I don’t know much about music, all told. But – you wanted three words,” he takes a slow drink, all without looking away from Jaskier, “then here they are: they aren’t real.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What aren’t real?” Jaskier represses another shiver and ignores the sudden heat under his collar at the intensity of the Witcher’s stare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The creatures in your song,” the Witcher clarifies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, yes, well.” Jaskier feels himself coloring and resists the urge to hide his face – it’ll just call more attention to it if he does. If he’s lucky, it’s dark enough even with the torches that the Witcher won’t see it. (Fat chance, that – he’s heard stories of Witchers’ eyes.) But he </span>
  <em>
    <span>hates</span>
  </em>
  <span> being called out on things he doesn’t know. Not that there’s any reason he should know much about monsters – all he’s ever seen are dusty, dry bestiaries in the Oxenfurt libraries that were fourth- or fifth-hand accounts at best. “I suppose you would be an authority, as a Witcher.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Vesemir,” the Witcher offers, and he doesn’t offer his hand with it – but Jaskier feels as if it’s the most cordial introduction he’s ever been given, even without the formality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jaskier,” he replies. Vesemir’s brow quirks, but he doesn’t comment on the name – surprising really, Jaskier has gotten a lot of flack for it. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>likes</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, though, likes the fact that buttercups are pretty, but also wild and poisonous. Maybe it’s too flowery or obscure for others to realize, but he is in fact making a statement, naming himself after a wildflower that kills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir looks over him for a moment, silent and still smiling slightly, before speaking again. “Are you hungry, Jaskier?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s something about the tone in the Witcher’s voice that makes Jaskier’s cheeks heat. “I, uh,” he stammers for a moment, then gestures to the table he was previously at, “I already ate.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s not what I asked,” Vesemir replies. “Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That tone is still there, and something in the way he’s looking at Jaskier has changed, and – </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It hits Jaskier suddenly, and just as quickly as the realization comes on, his blood is rushing southward. He bites his lip for a moment, worried that if he opens his mouth right away it won’t be words coming out of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” he finally answers, and it’s the truth. He’s always hungry, now; since leaving the comfort of the Academy, it has been hard to find the coin to satisfy himself. Most of his food nowadays comes from what people throw at him angrily, or what innkeepers and widows will give him out of pity. And he knows that it’s normal, that it will be a while yet before his career as a travelling bard will take off (if it does – though he doesn’t let himself think those thoughts too often), but that doesn’t take away the unfamiliar pain of </span>
  <em>
    <span>not enough food</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smiles again, and it calms something inside Jaskier at the same time that it makes his heart race. “Thank you,” he says. It’s – out of place, Jaskier thinks, but also…not. “I’ll buy your dinner.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s mouth drops open, and he knows he looks stupid, eyes wide and mouth a little ‘o’ of surprise, but Vesemir doesn’t laugh. Instead, he just quirks a single brow, something in his eyes going hard, and Jaskier jolts when he feels his cock twitch. Oh, he’s in trouble. He’s in so much trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” he breathes. “Thank you – ” he has to stop himself suddenly, bites his tongue to stop that silly little word from slipping out, but he manages it, “ – Vesemir.” His heart skips and races for an entirely separate (and also…not very separate) reason at the near slip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Vesemir says. He sounds…proud, almost, and Jaskier knows he’s done absolutely nothing to be proud </span>
  <em>
    <span>of</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he finds himself grinning stupidly anyway.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>So Vesemir buys him food. More than that, he buys him enough food to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fill </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, as well as wine that tastes much better than the ale.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is not stupid. He knows very well where this is going, and he can’t say he’s opposed. Not at all, in fact, and the longer Vesemir looks over him with that approving stare, the more on board he is. The tavern has all but cleared out by the time Jaskier is finished with his food and maybe a tiny bit too much wine – he’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>drunk</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s just…sufficiently tipsy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>bordering</span>
  </em>
  <span> drunk – and it’s only then that Vesemir speaks again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you have a room?” he asks, and there’s heat in his voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s cock throbs, stiffening once more where it had gone mostly soft while he ate. Once again, he doesn’t trust himself to speak instead of moan, so he just shakes his head. Vesemir’s smile sharpens again, not quite a smirk but something close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like to share mine?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier thinks for a split second about all of the ways this is a terrible idea. He doesn’t know anything about Vesemir aside from the fact that he’s a Witcher, after all, and everything he’s ever heard about Witchers has been terrible. He’s young, and weak, and mostly unarmed (he figures the small dagger in his boot isn’t worth much against the swords still at Vesemir’s side). There’s no one here who knows him, not many people who will miss him if he suddenly disappears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he thinks of all the ways this could become the best idea he’s ever had, and that list is significantly longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Absolutely,” he agrees, voice a little needier than he wanted, but it makes Vesemir’s not-quite-smirk widen.</span>
  
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s quiet the entire way up to the inn rooms, despite all of the nervous, fluttery energy in his chest that would usually coalesce into too many words. He thinks it might have something to do with the light touch of Vesemir’s palm to his back, steady the whole way to the Witcher’s room. Jaskier expects that Vesemir will unlock the door and lead him inside right away, but instead they stop, and Vesemir moves that steady touch to his shoulder instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There’s no need to be nervous, bard,” the Witcher murmurs. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier laughs, more of a self-conscious giggle, and before he can really think them through there are words spilling out of his mouth. “What if I want you to?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gasps and brings a hand up to cover his mouth, blushing clear from the tips of his ears to his collar. Vesemir makes a soft sound, something unreadable for Jaskier past his sudden, intense embarrassment, and the hand on his shoulder moves to his neck and then up, until Vesemir is cupping Jaskier’s jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that what you would like, little bird?” he asks, voice so low Jaskier feels it rumble through his chest where they’re nearly pressed together. “For me to hurt you?” Vesemir’s grip on his jaw tightens, just a little, and it doesn’t hurt – </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows hard and drops his hand. “M-maybe,” he murmurs. “I – I like a lot of things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir huffs a laugh. “Maybe if you can be good,” he murmurs, and Jaskier has no chance of stopping the little whimper that tumbles from his lips at that. Vesemir quirks a brow. “You like that,” he says, not a question. “Being called </span>
  <em>
    <span>good.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Don’t you, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nods, eyes wide. His body and mind are frozen in place, pinned by the heated look in Vesemir’s eyes, but he’s trembling finely. Vesemir smirks, and without stepping away or removing his hand from Jaskier’s jaw, gets the door to his room open, then pulls Jaskier through it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier lets himself be manhandled, following the Witcher’s soft direction easily into the room, dropping his things, and then back against the door, until his body closes it again. Vesemir reaches around his side to lock it, and Jaskier shivers at the proximity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir notices. He doesn’t step away, doesn’t move his hand from Jaskier’s jaw; instead he pushes closer, until they’re not quite touching from knees to chests, but not much more than a slip of parchment would fit between them. His other hand goes to Jaskier’s hip, and Jaskier lets out another little whimper, lashes fluttering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Absolutely nothing of consequence has happened, and he’s already putty in the Witcher’s hands. He is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>(Sweet Melitele, he really hopes he is.)</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir is not a large man by any means. In fact, pressed this close, Jaskier realizes he’s a little bit taller than the Witcher – not more than an inch, maybe two, but taller all the same; despite that Jaskier feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>small</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pressed to the door. He’s not sure if it’s that Vesemir is broader than him or just the aura of confidence and authority the Witcher exudes. Or maybe it’s the swords still strapped to Vesemir’s back. Whatever it is, Jaskier likes it very much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Vesemir murmurs, shocking Jaskier out of his musings. The praise shoots through him like a bolt, and he whines, hips jerking forward once, and then again when even that barely-there friction sends lightning through his veins. Vesemir watches him writhe for a moment with an indulgent smile before his eyes harden again, just a little. “Take yourself out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier scrambles to obey, fingers fumbling even as he watches what he’s doing. It takes a moment, entirely too long for his tastes, to unlace his breeches and shove them open enough to pull his cock into the air. The urge to stroke himself is strong, but there’s another, baser urge in him that murmurs </span>
  <em>
    <span>you don’t have permission. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He forces his hands back, flat against the door, and looks back to Vesemir.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher is smiling again, though the steel in his eyes remains. “Good,” he praises. “Perfect, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers and his hips jerk again, but this time Vesemir tilts his own back, so the only sensation Jaskier finds is the barest rasp of fabric across his head – a tease. It makes him whimper again, and Vesemir just smiles wider. The hand on Jaskier’s hip moves, petting along the bared skin just above his cock. It twitches violently upward, as if it has a mind of its own; Jaskier moans and tips his head back against the door, unable to handle the way Vesemir looks down between them and hums approvingly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You certainly are pretty, little bird,” Vesemir murmurs, fingers brushing through the hair low on his belly. Jaskier’s stomach tenses against the touch, and his cock twitches again. “What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier gasps. He forces his eyes open to look at Vesemir again, and their gazes meet, his wide and pleading against Vesemir’s calm. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fuck, please.” He already feels wildly desperate, enveloped in and overtaken by the heat of Vesemir’s body and the command he emanates.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir laughs, but it’s low and rough and only serves to send more heat pooling in Jaskier’s gut. “Vague,” he chides. “I’m sure there’s something more specific you want from me, little bird. Be a good boy and tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier hisses, eyes squeezing shut again. “I – touch me, please, I want – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am touching you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines through his teeth. “Want – touch my </span>
  <em>
    <span>cock</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please, da – </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir’s fist wraps tightly around the base of his cock, just shy of </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> tight. He strokes once with that same grip, from base to tip and back down, and Jaskier feels tears gather in his eyes and his body floods with pleasure, cock throbbing hard against Vesemir’s palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier breathes, squirming. “I – mm, want </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir gives that same laugh from before. “Good boy, telling me what you want,” he rumbles. “Do you want to come like his? Fuck my fist until you make a mess of yourself?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier jolts, head thudding hard against the door. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he gasps, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please, please – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shh, little bird,” Vesemir shushes him. “I like the sound of your begging, but right now I’d rather hear you sing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t give Jaskier a chance to parse that before he’s moving his hand, stroking up and down Jaskier’s cock with that same almost-too-much grip, and Jaskier moans shamelessly, hips juddering along in a half-rhythm. He’s so close, just Vesemir’s aura and proximity and a handful of strokes enough to set him right at the edge. His mind is blank but for the searing pleasure of it all, the heat and roughness of Vesemir’s hand smoothed by how much Jaskier is leaking all over, the soft, encouraging sounds he can barely hear over his own wanton noises.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s that distraction, he thinks, that absolute barrenness in his mind, that causes him to whimper, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy,</span>
  </em>
  <span> please,” and the desperation to come is probably what makes him do it </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Daddy, Daddy, please, want to – </span>
  <em>
    <span>come</span>
  </em>
  <span> – oh, oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The embarrassment floods him at the same time he finally tips over the edge. For a long, drawn out moment, he’s lost to the sound of his blood rushing in his ears and the clenching rhythm of his orgasm, only barely aware of the way he’s whining through it. He’s still writhing when he starts to come back to himself, and Vesemir’s still stroking him, lighter now, and he can’t help the way he’s humping forward against it even with the sensitivity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, it pushes over from pleasure to pain, and not in a fun way, and Jaskier bats weakly at Vesemir’s hand. The Witcher lets go of him, and Jaskier is finally able to breathe. His heart is still thundering in his ears, and he’s certain he’s red from his ears to his belly button right now, stomach squirming with the humiliation of letting </span>
  <em>
    <span>that word</span>
  </em>
  <span> slip out of him. The reactions to it aren’t always good, and he’s reluctant to open his eyes, to see what Vesemir thinks; before he can get up the courage, though, Vesemir speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, little bird, very good,” he murmurs, and Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>squeaks</span>
  </em>
  <span>, eyes flying open to find Vesemir looking at him with even more heat than before. “You made a mess,” the Witcher continues, holding up his hand, streaked with Jaskier’s cum. “Be a good boy and clean it up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines and reaches up to grasp weakly at Vesemir’s wrist, bringing the dirtied hand to his face so he can lick it clean. Vesemir lets out a sound almost like a snarl and, once his palm is clean, shoves two cum-covered fingers into Jaskier’s mouth. He just moans around them, sucking until all he can taste is the salt of Vesemir’s skin; almost as soon as he realizes he can no longer taste the bitterness of his spend, Vesemir takes the fingers away. Jaskier whines at the loss, but Vesemir just chuckles and replaces them with his thumb, hooking it against his bottom teeth and pressing down on his tongue. It makes Jaskier drool, but he doesn’t fight the hold, instead just letting his jaw go slack against it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir grins, something near feral. “Such a good boy for Daddy, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he hadn’t already come so recently, Jaskier thinks just hearing that would have done it. As it is, his cock jerks and his eyes roll and a filthy moan pours from his throat alongside the drool starting to drip down his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty cock, pretty mouth,” Vesemir continues. “And you make such pretty noises, too. All of you is just so </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier groans, starting to pant as his cock slowly starts to fill again. Vesemir takes his hand away, but Jaskier doesn’t bother closing his mouth, just fluttering his eyelashes and swiping his tongue across his bottom lip. Vesemir </span>
  <em>
    <span>growls</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the sound vibrating straight through Jaskier’s chest and making his cock jerk again. He grunts, eyes squeezing shut with the pain-tinged pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without warning, Vesemir steps back from him. Jaskier cries out and sways a little with the sudden change, but when he opens his eyes, Vesemir has only gone as far as the bed, a bare handful of steps away. Jaskier goes to push off the door, to follow him, but Vesemir levels him with a look that freezes him in place.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On your knees,” the Witcher orders. Jaskier drops immediately, heedless of the shock of pain that radiates up his spine. Vesemir smiles at him, that approving smile that makes warmth spread through Jaskier’s chest, but it’s almost a half-snarl now, as if the Witcher is losing control of his gentle façade. Jaskier thinks he would let Vesemir do terrible, </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrible</span>
  </em>
  <span> things to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here,” Vesemir commands. “Crawl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows, a weak pulse of humiliation settling low in his gut, and does just that, falling forward so he’s on hands and knees and crawling over to where Vesemir is sitting on the inn bed, legs wide to accommodate him. Once he’s close enough, Vesemir reaches out and grabs a handful of his hair, making Jaskier whine at the tingling pull. He tries to sit up and back onto his heels, but Vesemir doesn’t let him; his hand on the back of Jaskier’s skull, fingers gripping his hair, stop him from moving. With a little pressure, Vesemir moves his head, until he’s looking down at the Witcher’s boots.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stark against the black leather are a few spatters of drying cum. Jaskier whimpers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you should finish cleaning up,” Vesemir says. “Don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jaskier agrees, just barely stopping himself from dropping down to do so immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shudders clear to his bones, cock all the way hard again and bobbing with each twitch. “Yes, Daddy,” he whimpers, and Vesemir rewards him with a pet through his hair before he lets go entirely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Go on, then. Be good, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t have to be told twice; Jaskier drops to his elbows and ducks down, swiping his tongue over the biggest spot of white, tasting the bitterness of it as well as leather and shoe polish and the faintest hint of dirt. The moan that tumbles out of him is entirely involuntary, but he doesn’t pay it any mind, instead settling further down and licking across the leather again. And again, and again, and again, until the leather is soaked and shiny with his spit from the toe to the ankle, not a single spot of white in sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Only then does he look up to Vesemir. The Witcher is looking down at him hungrily, and just his expression makes Jaskier whimper and squeeze his eyes shut. His cock bobs wildly, throbbing between his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir nudges his jaw with the other boot, and Jaskier opens his eyes again. “I said be </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little bird,” Vesemir growls. “Clean the other one, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier makes a choked noise and nods frantically, shifting and turning his head to do just that. There’s less mess on this one, but he’s just as thorough, ensuring that there’s no stain left. This time, when he looks back up to Vesemir, the Witcher reaches down to grab his hair again, pulling him up by it. Jaskier cries out but follows the pull, until he’s back on his knees, ass resting on his heels. His hands settle on his thighs immediately, the position familiar from his previous dalliances.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Vesemir praises. “You’re being a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> good boy, little bird. Do you want more?” He pets through Jaskier’s hair, blunt nails dragging across his scalp and sending tingles down his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy,” Jaskier answers, a tiny bit slurred. “Yes, please. Please, want more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles. He keeps petting Jaskier’s hair, but his other hand goes to the laces of his breeches; Jaskier realizes with clarity for the first time that they’re both still almost completely clothed. Vesemir still has his swords, even. At the same time, he remembers exactly what he’s wearing under his doublet and breeches. His stomach swoops, but it’s more excited than nervous now – after all, Vesemir has taken the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing in stride….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He puts it out of his mind to be dealt with later, instead refocusing on the sight of Vesemir pulling open his breeches and shoving aside his smallclothes one-handed to bring out his cock. Jaskier’s mouth waters at the sight, the mild tiredness and ache in his tongue completely forgotten in the face of how much he wants that in his mouth. He doesn’t even realize he’s making quiet, desperate little noises until Vesemir laughs again and tugs at his hair, bringing him a little closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want Daddy’s cock, don’t you,” he says, almost more of a purr now, and Jaskier nods as much as he can with the Witcher’s grip in his hair. It wasn’t a question, but Jaskier wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he doesn’t want to leave even the barest chance that Vesemir might doubt that. Vesemir chuckles once more, stroking himself slowly, right in front of Jaskier’s face. Jaskier whimpers at the tease.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at you,” he rumbles. “So desperate for it, little bird, you’re practically drooling already.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier just whimpers again and stretches to try and flick this tip of his tongue against the head, with no success. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> drooling, now that he’s opened his mouth, spit trailing down his chin. It’ll just get worse with Vesemir’s cock in his mouth, and that’s exactly what he wants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck his singing. He wants to see if he can get the whole thing down his throat, let Vesemir bruise him, his voice be damned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little bird,” Vesemir orders. Jaskier does it, though reluctantly, and finds the Witcher smirking down at him. “Tell me exactly what you want to do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier licks his lips and swallows some of the excess drool. “Want to suck you,” he says, “want you to choke me on your cock, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir grunts, and when Jaskier glances down, he sees the way the Witcher is gripping tightly at his cock. Seeing the way it throbs and pulses, going a shade darker, makes Jaskier whine. He looks back up to Vesemir. “Please, Daddy, want you to fuck my face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods,” Vesemir hisses. “Such a filthy boy. Go on, then, if you want it so badly.” He lets go of Jaskier’s hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easy to duck forward then, to wrap his lips around the hot, fat head of him and suck. He takes momentary pride in the broken noise Vesemir makes, the way his hips jerk, and then he sets to work. Heedless of the slightly poor angle, he bobs up and down, tongue twisting around the head on each pull up, going deeper each time until he gags. Vesemir’s hand settles back into his hair, but doesn’t push or pull, just holds, as if he needs an anchor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Jaskier may not be able to ensnare a crowd with his singing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yet</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but he has other talents with his mouth that he knows good and well. He’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>fantastic</span>
  </em>
  <span> cocksucker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Clenching his hands into fists, Jaskier breathes in through his nose and pushes past the resistance. He gags a handful more times, but doesn’t stop, until he manages to go a little deeper before he gags. A little more, a little more, until finally, he meets where Vesemir’s fingers are still wrapped around his base. He rolls his watering eyes up to look at Vesemir’s face, slightly obscured by the shape of his body and the clothing he’s still wearing. When their gazes finally lock, Vesemir takes his hand away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier chokes a little as he pulls up once more, but ignores it as he goes back down. It takes another handful of tries, still gagging and choking a bit with each push, but without the barrier of Vesemir’s hand, he’s able to get all the way to the base. He can’t stay there long, throat spasming around the intrusion, and has to pull back up to suck in a wet, shuddery breath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being such a good boy for Daddy,” Vesemir growls, petting through Jaskier’s hair just to grab it harshly and yank his head back. Jaskier whimpers at the sting, eyes rolling. “Pretty little bird, look so good stuffed full of cock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whimpers. “Please, Daddy, want – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know what you want,” Vesemir interrupts. “You’ll get it, little bird, but you have to do something for me first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier forces his eyes open. “Anything, Daddy, please,” he pants, and Vesemir smiles at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me your hand,” he orders, holding his own out. Jaskier obeys, raising his hand to meet the Witcher’s. Vesemir threads their fingers together and squeezes softly. “Good. Now, I said I’d give you what you want, little bird, but you have to promise me something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anything,” Jaskier repeats, a little softer this time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smiles. “If you need me to stop, let go of my hand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, whimpering at the sting of his hair pulling in Vesemir’s grip, but squeezes his fingers tightly around the Witcher’s. “Yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy.” Vesemir pets through his hair once, then grips it tightly again. “Unless you let go of my hand, little bird, I won’t stop. Understand me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The mild threat in that makes Jaskier drool from both his mouth and his cock. “Yes, Daddy, I understand – </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles, the sound darker than any previous, and yanks Jaskier forward by his hair. Jaskier sticks his tongue out to lick up the little bead of precome beading at the slit, and quickly finds himself being pulled further forward. He gags a little but doesn’t let go of Vesemir’s hand, just squeezing it and his other fist tightly and swallowing through the spasms. Vesemir growls a little, the vibration of it shaking through Jaskier’s body and making his eyes roll back. He pulls Jaskier back up, then shoves him back down, further this time; slowly, he builds up a rhythm, heedless of the gagging and choking Jaskier is doing each time he slides into his throat or the tears and saliva streaking down his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going to wreck your voice, little bird,” Vesemir grunts. Jaskier’s cock throbs and his hips jerk, a strangled, choked moan eking slowly out of him. He can barely breathe, and there’s already bruises forming in his throat that he can feel, but he just wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Wants Vesemir to go harder, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> ruin him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Such a good little cocksucker, little bird, perfect mouth – so good for Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines around the head of him, eyes fluttering open to find Vesemir staring down at him with a singular focus. The sound is cut off with another thrust in, almost clear to the base this time, and Jaskier’s vision blurs with tears and strain, but not before he sees the enraptured look on Vesemir’s face. That alone makes his cock throb again, his entire body pulsing along with it as if he might come entirely untouched, just from being face-fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>thinking</span>
  </em>
  <span> about that – about coming untouched, on his knees for a Witcher who is using his throat like a personal toy, makes Jaskier’s whole body spasm. Vesemir grunts at the sudden contraction, his next thrust just a little bit harder. Jaskier’s throat is making nasty, wet sounds that nearly drown out the small, continuous rumble coming from Vesemir’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Vesemir pulls him entirely away. Jaskier makes a pitiful sound, trying to fight the Witcher's grip to duck back down, to choke himself on that cock again, but Vesemir won’t let him. Instead, the Witcher brings their entwined hands up to his cock; Jaskier catches on quickly and lets go of his hand to wrap his own around it instead. Vesemir’s hand wraps back around his, adjusting the tightness and leading him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s lashes flutter but he forces himself to keep his eyes open, gaze flickering between Vesemir’s face and the head of his cock, fat and nearly purpling, just barely out of reach of his mouth. The Witcher is watching him back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment to find his words, another small eternity to make his mouth work, but eventually Jaskier manages it. His voice </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>absolutely ruined, but he can still speak, thankfully. “Please, Daddy, want it – want your cum, please, please Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Vesemir’s eyes squeeze shut and Jaskier whimpers when he feels the first spurt strike his skin, searing hot. He drops his mouth open and closes his eyes, shuddering each time another streak lands across his cheek, his nose, his tongue. It seems as if it lasts forever, a small eternity before Vesemir pulls their linked hands away from his cock and there’s no more wet heat striking his face. Jaskier whines and opens his eyes, heedless of the cum clinging to his lashes. He swallows the load on his tongue compulsively, hears the small grunt Vesemir lets out at the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir is looking at him with an expression that’s somewhere between pride and ravenous hunger; it makes Jaskier whine all over again. The hand in his hair drops down to his cheek, gathering the mess there and painting it over Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier licks it away and sucks his fingers into his mouth easily, tongue working to clean them of the bitter taste. Slowly, Vesemir cleans his face that way, swiping the mess off his cheeks and nose and feeding it to him, until all that’s left is a vague stickiness on his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect little bird,” Vesemir murmurs. “I want you naked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shakes himself out of his haze and nods. “Yes, Daddy,” he says, accepting the balancing hand Vesemir gives him to stand. He takes a small step back and starts fussing with his clothes and boots, trying to ignore his cock, standing straight up out of his breeches and turning a deep shade of red.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach swoops again when he starts undoing his doublet – his other secret. He chews his lip and looks down to his hands instead of looking at Vesemir. They’re trembling a little, but nothing detrimental. He finishes with the buttons and finicky little hooks soon enough, and starts to shuffle out of it, a little timid. He hears the soft intake of breath from the Witcher but doesn’t look up. Instead, he just tosses his doublet away and starts on his breeches, making sure not to pull accidentally as he carefully folds them down his legs. There’s another small breath, sucked in harshly, and Jaskier flushes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little bird,” Vesemir growls, after a moment where Jaskier just stands there looking at his own stocking-covered feet. “Look at me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers softly, but does as he’s told. Without really realizing he’s doing it, he begins to fiddle with one of the little lace bows on his stockings; they match the ones on the bodice he’s wearing. Vesemir’s expression is back to hunger, eyes narrowed and pupils blown wide.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who are you wearing that for?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s blush deepens at the same time his cock twitches. “N-no one,” he says, and it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>a lie, but somehow –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t lie to me, little bird,” Vesemir says, warning in his tone. “Daddy asked you a question. Who are you wearing that for?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows. “Me,” he answers shyly. “I – I just…like them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s true; he’d found the set just before he left Oxenfurt, at a little out of the way boutique, and the woman there had taken pity on his nervousness and given him a deal. It’s a simple corset, off-white with light blue laces, and stockings that match – off-white silk with light blue bows along the top.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums, an incredibly neutral sound, and Jaskier’s stomach twists in knots. “I can take them off,” he offers, glancing back down to his feet and fiddling further with one of the bows on the stocking. Stupidly, he feels tears well up in his eyes; it’s just underwear, and of course not everyone would like it – even though Vesemir had looked, at first, like he might….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Vesemir says, clear and firm. “Unless you’re uncomfortable, little bird, I want you to keep them on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sucks in a breath and looks back up. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really,” Vesemir agrees. “Back on your knees.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A short, sharp sound escapes Jaskier’s throat, followed by a quick, “Yes, Daddy.” He drops back to his knees, a little more careful this time – he doesn’t want to risk tearing the stockings – and settles back onto his heels, hands back on his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smirks. “Good boy.” He moves one of his feet, shifting until he can set his foot just between the slight spread of Jaskier’s knees; almost unconsciously, Jaskier shifts his legs further apart. Vesemir settles the toe of his boot just under Jaskier’s balls, sending a shiver up his spine. “I want you to touch yourself, little bird. Make yourself come again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hardly needs to be told twice; the first touch, just the teasing swipe of his own thumb across the leaking head, makes him pant. The next, wrapping his fist lightly around himself, makes him whine. When his hips jerk forward, the toe of Vesemir’s boot grinds into the soft, sensitive place behind his balls and he nearly sobs. The jolt of pleasure is so sharp he does it again almost immediately, and ends up setting a slow, dirty rhythm to maximize the feeling. His hand is slick from his own precome, slipping up and down his cock as he practically humps Vesemir’s boot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher is watching him avidly, and when Jaskier glances down he finds Vesemir is somehow hard again – or maybe still? He doesn’t know. It doesn’t much matter, right now, with pleasure coursing hot through his veins already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck,” he pants, “Daddy – </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please, wanna – </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” He folds forward a little when Vesemir shifts his foot, increasing the pressure of his boot against that little spot. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to come for Daddy, little bird?” Vesemir asks, voice rough. “Make a mess of yourself and my boots all over again?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines, his grip on himself nearly punishing. “Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please, Daddy, want to – want to come, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> let me come Daddy, I’ll be good – I promise – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are being good, little bird, look at you,” Vesemir says. “Such a good boy. Go on. Come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hits him like a punch; he doubles over, vision whiting out as it rocks through him, each involuntary thrust forward just sharpening the edge of the pleasure as he grinds against Vesemir’s boot. “Fuck, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck, Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whines. It takes a handful of minutes for his senses to come back all the way, for his vision to clear and his ears to stop ringing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Vesemir can even say anything, or move his foot away, Jaskier ducks down and starts tonguing at the mess he’s made; it’s over the ankle and the laces this time, but he does just as thorough a job as before. He licks over the leather until it’s shiny and clean, and sucks lightly at the laces to ensure there’s nothing left but his own spit. And then does it again, just to make sure. A third time, as well, because he wants to be more than good, he wants to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vesemir grunts above him, and Jaskier looks up, tongue still pressed to the top of his boot. The Witcher's expression is back to that ravenous hunger again, eyes steely and molten all at once. Jaskier whimpers and finally sits up, lips buzzing from all of the recent abuse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Daddy,” he says meekly, and Vesemir grunts again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up,” he orders. “On the bed, on your knees.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier scrambles to his feet while Vesemir stands and then practically dives onto the bed. He situates himself on his hands and knees, legs spread wide mostly for balance but also, definitely, for show. He can no longer see Vesemir, but he can still hear the Witcher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s the thud of boots, and a rasp of leather over fabric, and then the rustling of clothes. Undressing. Jaskier shudders and forces himself to stay where he is, to keep his eyes forward instead of peeking. He hasn’t been told to do so, obviously, but it feels right – like how he hadn’t touched himself until he was told, how he asked to come just barely, saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir approaches the bed again, though Jaskier can’t exactly pin where he is. Until, of course, the Witcher clasps a palm over the nape of Jaskier’s neck and shoves him, until he’s face down on the bed, ass still in the air. The breath rushes out of him on a weak moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like that,” Vesemir murmurs. “Good boy. Arms up, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier pushes his arms up, wrapping the fingers of one hand around his opposite wrist, and turns his face to the side so he can breathe. All he can really see is his own bicep, but just past it is Vesemir, clearly naked. Jaskier can just make out the softness of his belly and the mat of gray hair trailing up to his chest and down to his cock. Even just that little glimpse has him whining.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want you to stay right there,” Vesemir orders. “Don’t move unless I tell you to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy,” Jaskier says obediently. His cock is a little slower to stir after two orgasms, but he can already feel the beginnings of it. “Want to see you, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles. “You will, later,” he promises. “First things first, though.” He moves away from the bed again, and Jaskier can hear him digging through something. A pack of some sort, probably. Jaskier can guess what he’s getting, and arousal tightens his stomach, makes his hips rise just a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Vesemir doesn’t circle around behind him right away. Instead, he comes back to standing at Jaskier’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lift your head a little,” he orders. Jaskier shifts his shoulders and does. Vesemir has something in his hand, shaped almost like an egg; when he holds it out better, Jaskier realizes exactly what it is and flushes bright red. Vesemir smirks. “What do you think, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daddy,” is little more than a gust of breath, but judging by the widening of Vesemir’s smirk, he heard it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Vesemir murmurs. He sets the plug down next to Jaskier’s arm, and it’s a little cold against his skin but not terribly. It’s made out of wood, sanded and sealed to perfect smoothness, and is not intimidatingly large but also not at all </span>
  <em>
    <span>small</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Just thinking about it sitting inside him makes Jaskier’s heart rate spike a little.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Vesemir moves behind him. There’s a touch to his calf, and then Vesemir’s hands are wrapped around his ankles, pulling slightly. “Move down,” he orders. Jaskier shuffles backward, until his feet are nearly off the edge of the bed. He keeps his arms up and his face pressed to the bed as he moves, even though it’s incredibly awkward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a good little bird,” Vesemir praises, running his hands up from Jaskier’s ankles to the backs of his knees, then back down. The touch ruffles his leg hair through the stockings and tickles, just a little; Jaskier giggles and presses his face into his arm to muffle the sound. When Vesemir speaks again, he sounds vaguely amused. “I was right, earlier, about all of you being pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines and wiggles his hips just a bit. “Please, Daddy,” he breathes. He doesn’t even know what he’s asking for, really; something, anything at all. Whatever Vesemir wants to give him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Settle,” Vesemir orders, and Jaskier bites his lip and stills. Vesemir slowly pets back up his legs, from his ankles again but going further this time, all the way to where his thighs become his ass, and then back down once more, calluses catching slightly on the silk of the stockings. Jaskier moans, fighting with every ounce of his willpower to keep still, to not press back into the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The petting continues for a moment, alternating between a light, ticklish touch and a firm, almost massage-like pressure. Jaskier is starting to shiver uncontrollably, whimpering each time Vesemir’s hands disappear from and return to his body. Vesemir hushes him softly, and on the next handful of passes, digs his thumbs into the meat of Jaskier’s ass, spreading his cheeks slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Vesemir’s hands land on his ass and stay. He kneads the muscle for a moment, simultaneously soothing and arousing. Jaskier groans and clenches his fist to resist pushing back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he begs, the entire core of his body tensing rhythmically even as he tries to relax. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Need – need </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patience,” Vesemir murmurs. “I’ll give you what you need once I’ve looked my fill. Be a good boy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines, near petulant, but nods against the bed. “Yes, Daddy, I’ll be good,” he mumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He isn’t expecting the swat. It’s not a hard hit, barely even enough to sting, but the shock of it knocks Jaskier’s breath from his lungs. When he manages to catch it again, he loses it all once more on a moan instead. Vesemir swats him again, a little harder, and Jaskier can’t help the way his hips rock back into the sting of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t make me punish you, little bird,” Vesemir growls. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Behave</span>
  </em>
  <span> yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier kind of wants to be punished, but he also doesn’t – it’s an odd war in his head for a moment, but when Vesemir swats him again, the hardest yet, he gasps out a warbling, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, I’m sorry, I promise I’ll be good, I’ll behave, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush.” Vesemir rubs at the slight sting from the last slap. “Now hold still and let me do as I please, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier takes a deep breath and forces himself to settle, counting through chords in his head to bring the boiling in his blood back down to a slow simmer. Vesemir rubs back down his thighs again, up and down for a moment before he returns his focus entirely to Jaskier’s ass. He massages the muscle for a long while, then spreads Jaskier’s cheeks apart as wide as he can get them before Jaskier gives a small yelp of discomfort. His thumbs slide up and down the outer edge of his crack, a light, teasing touch that makes Jaskier’s belly tremble. He bites his lip to stop himself from begging. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Patience, patience, patience</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he chants in his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s mostly managed to calm himself, to take his mind off of the burning, eager arousal searing through him, when Vesemir presses the pad of his thumb to his hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” Jaskier hisses. Vesemir laughs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher rubs at his hole for a moment, the touch dry and hot and tantalizing. Jaskier whimpers and whines into the bed, leaving a wet spot where his cock is starting to weep again. He whines louder when Vesemir takes his thumb away, but the Witcher just laughs at him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Relax, little bird,” he murmurs. There’s a small sound, something Jaskier can’t quite place in his addled brain, and then the touch is back, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>slick</span>
  </em>
  <span> this time. He hisses and pushes back, just the slightest bit, panting when the very tip of Vesemir’s thumb nudges </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost </span>
  </em>
  <span>inside him. Vesemir </span>
  <em>
    <span>tsks</span>
  </em>
  <span> and the touch disappears again for a moment, only to come back when Vesemir’s other hand has settled on Jaskier’s hip. Immobilizing him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines, high and definitely petulant; Vesemir tuts again and thumbs over his hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ask nicely, little bird,” he rumbles, and Jaskier immediately loses his breath and his already nearly non-existent train of thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he pants, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, please – want your fingers, want something </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> me, Daddy, please put something inside me. Want it so </span>
  <em>
    <span>badly.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums and the very tip of his thumb presses against Jaskier again. Harder this time, enough pressure to slip just inside, slick enough there’s only a slight sting from the stretch. Jaskier grunts and tries to push his hips back, with no success. Vesemir’s grip on his hip is absolute and unmoving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, please more,” he tries instead. “I can take it, I promise – </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> give me more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a considering hum. “If you say so,” Vesemir says after a moment, and then he’s pressing </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a slow but inexorable push that sinks his thumb all the way inside Jaskier’s body. It smarts a bit, but Jaskier just whimpers and tries again to push back, clenching down tightly around the intrusion. Vesemir grunts, seemingly stunned for a split second before he twists his thumb. Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>keens</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p><span>“Please</span> <span>please please </span><em><span>please</span></em><span>, </span><em><span>Daddy</span></em><span>,” he whimpers. “More. </span><em><span>More</span></em><span>!”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Hush.” Vesemir wriggles this thumb, the smallest little movement that nonetheless feels monumental to Jaskier. He groans and digs his nails into his palm and his wrist, respectively, clenching around the knuckle holding him open. “Tell me how it feels, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier groans. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he manages to hiss, “so good, Daddy, but it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>more.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Want more of you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I give you more now, little bird, it will hurt.” Vesemir pulls his thumb out a little, then pushes back in, tugging slightly at the little ring of muscle as he goes. Jaskier hiccups through a little moan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he repeats. “Just – just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> more, Daddy, please. Don’t care if it hurts, just want more of you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums. There’s that small sound again – a cork, Jaskier realizes – and then Vesemir pulls his thumb out again, about halfway. He tugs at the rim, though, forcing Jaskier just slightly more open. Jaskier whimpers, then whimpers again, louder and more desperate, at the feeling of oil trickling inside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir’s thumb disappears, but there’s a slick sound and then there’s two fingers pressing to the barely-relaxed muscle of his hole. He takes a deep breath and forces himself to untense, feeling the stretch when Vesemir presses forward.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier makes a loud, garbled noise at the relentless stretch of those two fingers, the smarting sting and the way it makes his cock throb. Vesemir pauses for a moment, just the tips of those fingers notched inside Jaskier’s body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, little bird?” he asks, and his voice is soft and commanding all at once. Demanding an answer but holding no judgment for whatever the answer is. Jaskier shudders and his toes curl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy,” he answers. “So good, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please keep going.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, those fingers keep sinking into him, until Vesemir’s knuckles are pressed to his ass and he’s spasming around the stretch, moaning and whimpering and </span>
  <em>
    <span>drooling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Fuck, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he pants, mind hazy as if his thoughts has vacated to make space for Vesemir to press inside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then those fingers move and Jaskier very nearly comes on the spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Da – daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” he cries, his entire body rolling into where Vesemir holds his hips hostage. The Witcher's fingers twist within him and curl and suddenly Jaskier is certain his body is made of light. It takes a long moment for him to realize the high-pitched sound he’s hearing is coming from </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>, voice wavering through it as his body shudders violently. He’s not actually coming but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he is. It’s hardly the first time someone has found his prostate but there’s something different about Vesemir’s touch. Jaskier doesn’t have the capacity to analyze it at the moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir just makes a soothing sound and keeps moving his fingers, though he only glances slightly off of Jaskier’s prostate now instead of assaulting it directly. Jaskier is both bereft and thankful for it, still shivering a little from the sudden intensity. His cock jumps at each touch, though, and he whimpers near continuously. The whimpering pitches closer to whining when Vesemir starts scissoring his fingers apart, truly stretching Jaskier open.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Vesemir murmurs. “Do my fingers feel good, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy,” Jaskier gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad.” Vesemir pulls his fingers almost all the way out, then shoves them back in, a little rougher now; Jaskier keens again and continues to try, unsuccessfully, to roll his hips back into the pressure. “Hopefully you’ll like the plug just as much.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s cock jerks at the reminder of the wooden toy still pressed against his arm. “Gods, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, want it – want it so much, want to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give it to me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier fumbles up onto one elbow so he can grab the toy and pass it back to Vesemir’s waiting hand, then collapses back down again. Vesemir scissors his fingers apart a handful more times before they’re gone, leaving Jaskier feeling empty and wanting as his body tries to clench down on nothing. But Vesemir lets go of his hip, as well, and he hears the little cork again, then a slick sound. One of Vesemir’s hands comes back, fingers sliding between Jaskier’s cheeks to press and hold him open. It takes a second, but Jaskier feels the tip of the plug rest against his hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, Daddy, yes, please,” he gasps out. “Want – want it inside me, want to be plugged full, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir makes a short sound, something pleased and broken all at once. The plug presses forward, slowly, so slowly Jaskier is sure he’s losing his mind. It isn’t until about halfway down – by his guess from feeling alone – that he starts to feel the stretch again, and the little sting just makes him want more, more,</span>
  <em>
    <span> more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>gets</span>
  </em>
  <span> more; the plug just keeps coming, as slow and sure as the tide, until Jaskier is sure they’re at the widest part because it almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span> now, and his cock is twitching wildly, drooling precome down to the bed in a spreading wet spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The actual widest part </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> hurt, just a little, and then the plug tapers back in and his body closes easily around it. Vesemir presses against the base of it, as if it’s some kind of button; it may as well be, for the way Jaskier gasps and jerks each time he does it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel full, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s mouth works for a bit, words momentarily lost, before he finally gasps, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, so full, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>full</span>
  </em>
  <span>, thank you, thank you.” He clenches down on the toy and whimpers, cock flexing and dripping copiously with the weight and pressure of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Vesemir purrs. “Good boy. On your back. Arms back up once you’re there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier grunts and follows the directions, flopping first onto his side with a hiss and then squirming until he’s on his back, arms raised back above him and still holding on to his own wrist. He ends up with his legs splayed as far apart as he can comfortably get them, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir stands at the end of the bed in all his naked glory, exactly as soft and fuzzy as Jaskier had assumed from his brief glance earlier. His cock flexes again and drips precome onto his belly now, making a little puddle.  Vesemir looks over him appreciatively for a moment, fisting his own cock loosely, and Jaskier whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His throat aches and he still wants that cock in his mouth. Again. And again, and again, and again. Maybe just forever, if he’s able. He’ll abandon his dream of being a travelling bard and just become Vesemir’s personal cocksleeve instead. The way his body pulses at </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> thought informs him he should revisit that fantasy in more detail later.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what you’re thinking, little bird,” Vesemir demands suddenly. Jaskier flushes and nearly bites straight through his lip, gut twisting with shame and desire all at once. Revisiting that fantasy </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>, apparently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I just – ” Jaskier swallows and has to tip his head back, to look away; he cannot focus when Vesemir is just touching himself like that. “It’s embarrassing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums. “Be good for Daddy and tell me anyway, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier moans, hips jerking up as he clenches down on the toy. “I was thinking – ” he starts, then has to swallow down his humiliation before he can continue, “that I – maybe I shouldn’t be a bard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh? What would you be instead?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yours</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whimpers. “Just – just follow y-you around, Daddy, let you fuck me whenever you want, be your per-personal toy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Vesemir growls. The bedframe shudders when he climbs almost violently onto the bed, shoving his way between Jaskier’s legs, until he’s forced to bend them back to accommodate the Witcher. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pretty mouth, little bird.” He leans up far enough that Jaskier is nearly bent in half, legs bent and hooked around the Witcher's waist, feet resting just under his ass. Jaskier rubs one foot up and down the back of his thigh, shuddering at the dissonant feeling of the silk on rough skin and coarse hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then without warning, Vesemir is kissing him; it’s not soft, more tongue and teeth and spit than romance, but Jaskier whimpers into it all the same and arches up. It doesn’t last long, Vesemir pulling away with a vicious nip to Jaskier’s lip before ducking down and dragging sharp teeth along the tendon in his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going to mark you mine, little bird,” he growls, hips rolling down and pressing their erections together. Jaskier moans and jerks, only barely remembering to keep his hands above his head. “Leave you with bruises in the shape of me for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier begs, tipping his head back as far as he can to give Vesemir more room. “Want to wear you everywhere, let everyone know how you ruined me, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first bite is right over Jaskier’s thundering pulse. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, skin-deep ache with the threat of sharpness, but Vesemir doesn’t bite hard enough to split skin, just to bruise. And it’ll bruise badly, Jaskier can tell immediately; he keens and digs his nails into his own skin once more to keep his hands where they are. The ache changes when Vesemir sucks over the imprint of the teeth, goes deeper, until it feels like it’s throbbing with his pulse and spreading. His cock weeps between them and he can’t help but grind up against Vesemir’s body, the contrast of rough-smooth skin and thick hair creating mind blowing friction.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir laughs against his throat and bites again in a new spot this time. The process is the same; the bite almost enough to break skin but not quite, leaving deep imprints of his teeth, then sucking the bruise deeper. Another bite, and another, and then a handful more. Jaskier loses count, half delirious from pain and pleasure mixing so sharply in his blood that he’s certain he’s ascended to a completely different plane. It isn’t until Vesemir reaches between them to grasp at his cock, fingers tight enough around the base to hurt, that Jaskier comes back to himself in any meaningful way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy!” he whines, eyes flying open to find Vesemir leaned up, hovering above him. He squirms, both because of that probing look and the ache in his cock. “Daddy, that hurts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad hurt?” Vesemir asks. Jaskier sucks in a breath and considers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” he finally decides. Vesemir smirks. His grip on Jaskier’s cock doesn’t loosen, but he does duck down and run his tongue across the blooming bruises decorating his throat. Jaskier grunts at the tingling pain and jerks, jostling the plug inside him. Even with the tight grip Vesemir has on him, he’s still leaking a veritable flood of precome, his entire belly slick with it now, some of it seeping into the higher front of the corset.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to come again until I’m inside you, little bird,” Vesemir growls, right into Jaskier’s ear. “I want to stuff you so full of my cock you’ll never think of anything else, and then, when I’m done I want to plug you back up with that toy to keep you wet and open for me. And then I’m going to make you come </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just to watch you squirm and cry for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time Vesemir is done talking, Jaskier is panting wildly, hips shifting back and forth as his cock throbs painfully in Vesemir’s still-too-tight grip. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whimpers, dragging the vowels out for several beats. “Please fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I let go of your cock, are you going to be a good boy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods frantically. “I will, I promise I’ll be good Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums and squeezes just a bit tighter before finally letting go of Jaskier’s cock. It’s a relief as well as </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Jaskier squirms for a moment before he manages to settle back down. The Witcher shuffles back a bit, enough to lean back and grab the little vial of oil where he left it on the end of the bed, then situates himself onto his knees. Without warning, he grabs Jaskier’s hips and </span>
  <em>
    <span>lifts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pulling him into his lap, so that everything between Jaskier’s legs is bared to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines and flushes, clenching down on the hard, heavy toy inside him. Vesemir’s fingers hook around the base of it, tugging lightly, and Jaskier’s stomach swoops. Vesemir doesn’t stop doing it either. He keeps pulling at the toy, until Jaskier is nearly spread at the widest point, then releasing it to be sucked back into his body. Jaskier is whining and writhing and </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathless</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s intense, the sensation of being fucked without properly being fucked, the wide, almost-pain stretch at his rim before the gut-punch release of the toy sinking back inside. Vesemir toys with him like this for several minutes, until the stretch around that wide part no longer hurts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he starts going past it, letting Jaskier’s body close around the taper at the top end, but never pulling it all the way out. Almost in a mirror, he starts pulling it near out and then pushing it back in, until just that widest part, never past it. Jaskier feels tears gathering in his eyes from the sheer potency of the sensation. His hips are jerking and he’s holding on by the barest thread of control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, when Vesemir actually pushes the plug all the way back inside, then pulls it all the way out, Jaskier snaps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, Daddy, please,” he croaks. “Please, can’t take any more, want your </span>
  <em>
    <span>cock</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Need you to stuff me full, please, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Vesemir agrees easily. He sets the plug aside – for </span>
  <em>
    <span>later</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier remembers with a pleasant shudder – and unstoppers the oil once more. First, he leans back and coats his cock in a thick layer, and then he coats three fingers and thrusts them quickly into Jaskier’s body. It’s so much all at once and Jaskier chokes, then chokes again when Vesemir forces those fingers wide apart inside him and then takes them away, all in the space of a few quick breaths. The oil gets corked again and tossed to the side before Vesemir sits up on his knees and shuffles Jaskier where he wants him. Jaskier whimpers and hardly even notices the pillow Vesemir stuffs under his back before he lines up. “Ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whines, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles, and with a small hitch of his hips, the head of his cock sinks inside. Jaskier’s whole body tenses all at once and then immediately goes boneless, a long, shuddering groan leaking from his lips. Even with all of the prep and the plug, Vesemir still feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>big</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Jaskier is probably – no, not probably, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely </span>
  </em>
  <span>going to be crying by the end of this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a good boy,” Vesemir whispers. “Look at you, you look so good stretched on my cock.” The Witcher thumbs over his puffy rim where it grips his cock tightly. “Feel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>heaven</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier is functionally incoherent; he’d thought earlier that his thoughts had vacated to make space for Vesemir’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fingers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s nothing like the emptiness his </span>
  <em>
    <span>cock</span>
  </em>
  <span> is causing, forcing all of the thoughts out of his mind and all of the air out of his lungs as he slowly sinks ever deeper. One of Vesemir’s hands, still slick with oil, cups his balls, fondling them. The pleasure is sharp in contrast to the deep ache of his cock, and Jaskier jerks wildly, impaling himself further onto the Witcher's cock in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nearly screams; as it is, he doesn’t quite have the lung capacity at the moment to </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually </span>
  </em>
  <span>scream, so it’s more of a weak cry. His body clenches down tight on Vesemir’s cock, cock flexing hard as he tries to hold on to his control. He’s almost got a handle on it, too, until Vesemir </span>
  <em>
    <span>talks</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you going to come, little bird?” he asks, voice dark. “I haven’t even started moving and you’re already going to come on my cock, hm? I probably won’t even have to touch you. Go on, if you want to – be a good boy and come for Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier does scream, this time, finally finding the breath to do it. Everything whites out as he rides the edge of his orgasm, tinged so brightly with pain he can hardly breathe. He slams back into his body with the last few weak spurts, stunned that after two orgasms he can still make such a mess. Vesemir is sunk all the way into him now, and Jaskier could swear he can feel the Witcher in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>throat</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, they’re still while Jaskier comes down. But when he finally sputters out a soft, desperate, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” that changes quickly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir scoops up the worst of his mess from his stomach and paints it over his lips. He drops his mouth open, lets the Witcher shove three oil-bitter, sticky fingers over his tongue and nearly to the back of his throat, sucks on them exactly like he would a cock. Vesemir growls and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrusts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and at that point, Jaskier is lost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty little bird,” Vesemir growls. “Going to keep you impaled on my cock for </span>
  <em>
    <span>hours</span>
  </em>
  <span>, make you hold me inside even when I’m soft. Use you as a personal cockwarmer. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, yes, Daddy, please,” Jaskier whines and whimpers and collapses nearly into hysterics. Vesemir’s cock inside him </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts </span>
  </em>
  <span>and feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good </span>
  </em>
  <span>and he’s still hard, somehow, even though he’s sure he doesn’t have any more cum to give. He knows it doesn’t matter even if he really doesn’t – Vesemir is going to make him come again, and if it’s dry, it’s dry. There are tears on his face and leaking into his ears and hair and he doesn’t even care, still whimpering out, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Daddy, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” as if it’s his new mantra.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fuck, maybe it is. He’s starting to wonder if maybe becoming a Witcher's cocksleeve isn’t a fantasy he wants to bring into reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a good boy, letting me use you,” Vesemir continues, still in that rough growl that Jaskier swears he can feel in his godsdamned </span>
  <em>
    <span>bones</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Going to look even prettier leaking my cum before I stuff it all back inside you and plug you up. Whole world will know you’re ruined, little bird, see the bruises I left on you and how you’ll reek of me for a month.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s entire body is shaking, the tears coming faster now, nearly a flood. He’s so close – to another orgasm or to actually ascending out of his body, he can’t truly be sure – and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, wants it so badly. “Daddy, please, please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>close</span>
  </em>
  <span> – more, need </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy. Ple – </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of Vesemir’s hands wraps around his cock, the other one fondling his balls and pressing up against the slightly abraded spot behind them, still sensitive from his boot. All without missing a single stroke, plunging in and out of Jaskier’s body at an inhuman speed. Jaskier screams so loud his voice cracks and falls to pieces.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His awareness is slow to come back. He can’t say if he came or just blacked out; if he came, he can’t feel any evidence of it aside from the lassitude in his limbs. Vesemir is still above him, inside him, grunting like a wild animal. Jaskier focuses on the sensation for a moment and realizes he’s coming, pouring into Jaskier’s body like he’s meant to be nothing more than a receptacle for Vesemir’s cum.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That sends an aftershock through Jaskier’s body that makes him clench; an odd, high-pitched sound jolts out of Vesemir, and he leans down seemingly on instinct to almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>gnaw</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Jaskier’s shoulder. Jaskier grunts but bears it, head filled with cotton and body feeling like one big pleasant ache. Finally, Vesemir’s frantic grinding slows until it stops, and Jaskier can feel him softening, still stuffed inside his body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cockwarmer</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thinks, and flushes scarlet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir is slow to pull out, and he doesn’t go far. Instead, he settles back on his heels and yanks Jaskier up again, into his lap like he was when he took the plug out. Jaskier goes easily, boneless and sated and aching and dizzy. A rough fingertip traces his hole, and he tries to clench down only to find he really </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Without Vesemir’s cock to fill the void, his muscles just don’t move the way they should. He shivers and moans at the realization, groin pulsing valiantly with no response from his drained cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment there’s nothing, and then Jaskier’s entire body flashes hot-cold when he feels Vesemir’s cum start to leak out of him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whimpers, trying to shift to stop it from leaking, to be good and keep it inside. Vesemir doesn’t let him go anywhere, just scooping the cum up and pushing it back inside with gentle fingertips. Jaskier gurgles, trying once more to clench down without success.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>empty</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it hurts more than anything else, the ache in his gut and his throat nothing compared to the sheer emptiness chewing at his insides right now. “Daddy,” he gasps, fighting to get his eyes open, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>empty</span>
  </em>
  <span>, need – need – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shhh, little bird,” Vesemir quiets him. “I’ve got you.” Something cold presses against his rim and he gasps but doesn’t have the energy to flinch away from it. Not that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> to, not when he realizes what it is; the plug is maybe a little too dry, and freezing, but he wants it.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Needs </span>
  </em>
  <span>it. Tears spring to his eyes and he manages the strength to squirm, just a little. “Need it, Daddy, need it, please, please put it in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir doesn’t bother with going slow, instead just shoving the plug in until Jaskier’s ass clamps down around the base. Jaskier’s new tears spill over, but he’s babbling happily, so relieved that he’s not so empty anymore. “Thank you, Daddy, thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, little bird.” Vesemir leans over him, close enough to kiss again. This time it’s soft and romantic and Jaskier whines right into his mouth because the plug shifts inside him and he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> Vesemir’s cum coating his insides. “Been such a perfect boy for me, so good for Daddy. How do you feel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>magnificent</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier manages to slur against Vesemir’s lips, and then he passes out.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he wakes, his stockings and corset have been removed, he’s clean, and he’s cocooned in a heavy blanket. He’s not sure what time it is, but Vesemir is sitting up in bed next to him, one hand in his hair while he reads; he’s put his breeches back on, but that’s all, and they’re half-undone. Jaskier shifts to stretch and his whole body throbs, painful, especially where he’s still stuffed full by the plug, but he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>absolutely</span>
  </em>
  <span> not complaining. In fact, even aching and bruised and still rather tired, Jaskier just wants more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifts his head onto Vesemir’s thigh and makes a soft sound. Vesemir chuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome back, little bird,” he murmurs, and sets his book aside. “How are you feeling?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Everything hurts,” Jaskier answers honestly. “Want more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another chuckle, and Vesemir pets through his hair gently, fingers curving over his ear and jaw. Jaskier shivers slightly and presses into the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You need rest, little bird,” Vesemir murmurs. “Let me take care of you, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nuzzles into his thigh. “Yes, Daddy.” He doesn’t want to sound petulant, but he does anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums. “Let me take care of you, little bird, and I’ll give you a reward. How’s that?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier perks up a little. “A reward?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smirks down at him. “Yes,” he nods, “a reward. But it’ll be a surprise. And you’ll only get it if you’re good for me. Understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy,” Jaskier answers, suddenly eager.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy. Can you sit up for me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier considers. “Might need help,” he says, finally.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright. Lean on me as much as you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods and wriggles his arms out of his blanket cocoon so he can begin to lever himself up. He does end up having to lean on Vesemir, pillowing his head on the Witcher's chest while he fights to get his legs out of the blanket so he can sit up properly. Every shift moves the plug within him, painful and painfully good all at once; Vesemir doesn’t mention the soft, weak sounds Jaskier is making. Instead he just helps, holding Jaskier up and helping him shift when needed, until he’s finally up and leaned back against the headboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Vesemir practically </span>
  <em>
    <span>coos</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, and Jaskier shudders with a small whine. “Wonderful, little bird. I’m going to get up and grab a few things.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “Yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir leaves him with a kiss to his temple. Jaskier hums and watches him move about the room appreciatively, very much liking the look of him, soft and hairy and clearly </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong</span>
  </em>
  <span>, naked but for his almost-undone breeches. Gods, but Jaskier would absolutely worship every inch of him given the chance. Maybe he should ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> still very tired, though, and Vesemir said he needed to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get his reward. He figures dirty talk or begging aren’t being good right now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir returns to the bed, interrupting Jaskier’s hazy, wanting daydreams. He shakes his head a little to clear it and sees that the Witcher has several things, one of which is a little cup with something steaming inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tea,” Vesemir explains. “It’ll help your throat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier takes the cup from him, humming at the pleasant warmth on his fingers. “Alright,” he agrees. He blows on it for a moment before taking a tentative sip. Still very hot, but not anything he can’t handle, and it does feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful </span>
  </em>
  <span>on his throat. While he’s sipping at it, Vesemir spreads the other things out on the bed. A little pot of something that smells medicinal, a little vial of oil, and – Jaskier flushes a little – a smaller plug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir catches him looking. “That’s up to you,” he says, gesturing to the plug. “I can’t let you keep the one you’ve got in all night; it could hurt you for real. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if you would like it, this smaller one will be okay for one night. You’re absolutely allowed to say no, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that my reward for being good?” Jaskier blurts. He quickly takes a large drink of tea to mask at least some of his embarrassment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles. “No,” he answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier considers for a moment. “I…can I wait?” he asks. “Decide when you take this one out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Vesemir sets the little plug to the side, and picks up the medicinal-smelling pot. “This is a salve for the aches and bruises.” The Witcher suddenly looks – almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>sheepish</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You’ll still look as if you’ve been mauled, unfortunately, but it will help with the pain, and speed the healing a little.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier giggles. “I rather like looking like I’ve been mauled,” he says, a little cheeky. “What’s that?” He points to the remaining vial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Similar to the salve,” Vesemir answers. “Meant to help with aches, but specifically your more tender areas.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier feels himself flushing again. “Ah.” He finishes his tea and holds the cup back out to the Witcher.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Would you like more?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier thinks. “Uh – yes, actually. If you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smiles and takes the cup. “I do not, little bird,” he says. He turns and rummages around in his things again for a bit, then sets to making another cup of the tea. Jaskier allows himself to doze a little where he’s sitting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure how long it is before Vesemir comes back, but the Witcher strokes over his cheek softly to rouse him, and he yawns a little. Vesemir presses the cup into his hands, pausing to ensure Jaskier has a proper grip on it, then settles next to him on the bed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Drink that,” Vesemir says. “Take your time. I’ll take care of the rest when you’re finished. Alright, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy.” Jaskier yawns again but starts sipping at the tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smiles. “Not that I’m against it, little bird,” he says, “but you can call me Vesemir as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “Don’t want to,” he mumbles. “Not yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Vesemir reaches over and pets through his hair. “Just – mind yourself in public, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods again and goes back to his tea. It takes him a bit longer to finish this cup, but it feels just as good on his throat as it cools as when it’s hot. And he kind of likes the quiet peace; Vesemir’s hands haven’t left him this whole time, petting his hair or his thigh, and the Witcher looks so </span>
  <em>
    <span>kind</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now, eyes soft and smiling just slightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks, even with all fantasy aside, he’d like to stay around Vesemir for a good long while. He wonders if it’s even possible. After all, he knows truly fuck all about Witchers; but maybe they can discuss it. Later – probably in the morning, he thinks. He’s so tired.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Vesemir rumbles when Jaskier hands him the empty cup a second time. He sets it to the side and grabs the salve. “Now all you have to do is hold still. I’ll move you if I need to, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “Yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Just relax, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he does. Jaskier’s eyes flutter closed and he lets himself go mostly boneless. He can smell the salve a bare handful of seconds before Vesemir’s touch registers; it’s cool and tingles a little, and feels incredible on the aching skin of his neck. Vesemir is careful but thorough, ensuring that there’s nothing more than a slight residue left, rubbing all of the salve deep into Jaskier’s skin. Once the Witcher is done with his neck, he moves down, rubbing it into various little aches – Jaskier’s hips, his knees. By the time he finishes, Jaskier is sure his bones have actually disappeared, he feels so relaxed and floaty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m going to move you,” Vesemir murmurs softly, right next to his ear. “Don’t worry about a thing, little bird. Daddy’s got you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hums in lieu of a response, eyes slitting open to look at him for a moment, and Vesemir chuckles. Slowly and carefully, Vesemir shifts him until he’s on his back with a pillow under his hips, Vesemir between his thighs. Like earlier, but it’s not really sexual right now – at least, not primarily. Jaskier can guess what’s coming and forces himself not to tense.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry if this hurts, little bird,” Vesemir murmurs. “I’ll make it better if it does, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier makes a vaguely agreeable noise. Vesemir’s fingers grasp at the base of the plug, but he doesn’t pull immediately. Instead, he uses his other hand to pet softly at the red, puffy rim around it. It’s hazily pleasant and soothing; Jaskier lets it further relax him. Only when he’s gone back to boneless does Vesemir start pulling at the toy, glacier slow. It aches and smarts a little, but nothing Jaskier can’t handle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loses track of time again as Vesemir slowly, slowly eases the plug out of him. There’s a sharp sting when the widest part passes his rim, but aside from that, it’s mostly alright. Nothing more than what Jaskier would have expected.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir sets the plug to the side and Jaskier hears him uncork the little vial. He shivers at the slight cold when the Witcher starts rubbing it gently into his rim and the surrounding skin of his ass, then up his taint and to his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How’s that, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Jaskier pants. It’s mostly just the sheer magnitude of relief the oil is bringing him. “Thank you, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course.” Vesemir continues rubbing the oil in, until it’s completely soaked into Jaskier’s skin. “Have you decided if you want the other plug?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier considers. “I – no, I don’t think so,” he answers slowly. “Just…too much.” In reality, he does </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> the plug, but he’s reaching his limits, and he doesn’t want to sully this experience by trying to push himself too far.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy, being honest with me.” Vesemir sweeps a hand up Jaskier’s side and back down. “Thank you, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hums. “Do I get a reward, Daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir huffs a laugh with a little eye roll. “Yes, little bird, you do. You were very good for me, letting me take care of you properly, so you can have your reward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll let you warm my cock tonight. Nothing more than that, little bird. Just a warm place to put my cock while we rest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s entire body pulses, half arousal and half just content warmth. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir moves out from between his legs, climbing off the bed. “Move over, little bird, so I can sit in the middle of the bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment for Jaskier to find the strength, but he manages to sit up and scoot to the end of the bed. Vesemir gets back in, sitting at the head in the middle with his legs straight out and splayed. He leans a little slouched against the headboard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Vesemir beckons him closer. “Between my legs, little bird, get comfortable.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier does as he’s told, squirming up the bed until he’s settled between Vesemir’s thighs. He’s mostly on his stomach, tipped a little to the side, head pillowed on Vesemir’s inner thigh. It puts his mouth right next to the Witcher's soft cock and still-heavy balls. He flicks his eyes up to Vesemir and drops his mouth open, jaw slack and tongue soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir grunts and slowly feeds Jaskier his soft cock with one hand, the other resting in Jaskier’s hair. He can almost fit all of it in his mouth soft; there’s maybe an inch left that he can’t take without discomfort. Vesemir mumbles wordless praise at him anyway, though, so he doesn’t worry about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy, little bird, so good for me,” Vesemir mumbles once they’re settled, his cock cradled in the loose grasp of Jaskier’s soft mouth. Jaskier’s eyes flutter shut and he relaxes totally, ignoring the drool starting to pool at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t try to swallow, or suck at all; just holds the heavy, warm flesh of Vesemir’s cock in his mouth. “Gods, you look so perfect like this, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He has a passing thought to Vesemir’s comfort, sitting up like he is, but he figures the Witcher would have chosen a different position if he wouldn’t be able to rest there. He lets the thought filter out of his head, nothing in particular coming in to replace it, and he sinks slowly back into sleep, content with the strength of Vesemir’s thighs surrounding him and the weight of a cock in his mouth.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, Jaskier wakes late. He’s a little disappointed to not wake up with a cock still in his mouth, but not enough to complain. Instead, he just stretches luxuriously, shivering at all of the banked aches and pains in his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks he’s likely ruined for anyone else at this point. Oh well. If he’s lucky, Vesemir will let him stick around – for a little bit, if not longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good morning, little bird,” Vesemir greets. “Or, well – nearly good </span>
  <em>
    <span>afternoon</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier chuckles and rolls to his side to look at the Witcher. He’s completely dressed, though without any armor or swords. Instead, he’s in the same breeches and tunic from last night, along with a simple sleeveless jerkin. Jaskier, by contrast, is still entirely naked, lazing in bed only partially covered with a blanket.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rather likes that contrast, actually. He wonders if Vesemir would indulge him, assuming he’s allowed to stick around – if they could fuck with the Witcher completely clothed while Jaskier’s totally bare. Just the thought sends a shudder down his spine. Vesemir quirks a brow at him, and he flushes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nothing,” he mumbles. Vesemir snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t start lying to me now, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blush deepens. “Just…fantasizing,” he says. That’s the truth, at least, if not a detailed version of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Vesemir’s expression changes, his eyes darken a little. “Anything you’d like to share?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shivers again. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he mutters. “I – you’d have to keep me around for a </span>
  <em>
    <span>while</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hear all of them,” he considers for a split second, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could use Vesemir’s name, or even call him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Witcher</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he knows. But he likes the feel of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span> on his tongue, loves the way it makes his gut clench and the soft sound Vesemir makes in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well,” Vesemir says, slowly. “I had no plans to let you go quite yet, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers softly. “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> glad, Daddy,” he replies, lashes fluttering.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir grins, and it’s wide and sharp and </span>
  <em>
    <span>animal</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jaskier’s cock twitches.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come eat,” Vesemir says, beckoning him over. “You’ll need your strength. And there’s more tea, for your throat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows and climbs out of bed, not bothering to hunt down any clothes. Instead of going to the chair Vesemir indicated, though, he perches himself in the Witcher’s lap with a cheeky little smile. Vesemir chuckles and shakes his head, but wraps an arm around Jaskier’s waist to balance him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier picks apart meat and cheese and bread until he’s eaten his fill, then drinks the lukewarm tea left for him. Vesemir is quiet the whole time, just holding him and breathing, and usually Jaskier would fill the silence with chatter – he almost never shuts up – but he’s very content to let it be right now. Maybe it’s just Vesemir.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thinks it’s been half an hour, maybe forty-five minutes, by the time he’s totally finished. He leans back against Vesemir’s chest, shuddering when the Witcher's stubble scratches over the bruises on his throat. Vesemir just holds him tightly, ensuring he doesn’t slip, and presses a soft kiss to his collarbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m headed south for a bit,” the Witcher murmurs. “Then east again. That alright with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hums. “Yes, Daddy,” he answers. Then, a little quieter, because it’s maybe a bit more honest than he should be right now, “I think I’d follow anywhere you asked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir grunts. “Well,” he rumbles, “then I suppose I’ll be very careful to make sure I go places you like, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers a little. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles. “Alright, little bird, up. Time to get dressed and head out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier makes a soft, unhappy sound, but doesn’t fight it when Vesemir pushes him to his feet. Once he’s steady, he stretches again and wanders over to his pack – Vesemir must have organized everything, because he’s sure he just dropped everything last night. He doesn’t entirely remember.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stockings and corset are laid at the top of the pack, as well as his clothes from the night before. He grins and moves them aside to grab a clean change, then starts to dress. As he does, Vesemir moves around the room to gather his own things. Jaskier has to focus a bit to make sure he doesn’t get distracted.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once they’re both ready and packed, Vesemir reaches out a hand. Jaskier takes it, giggling when Vesemir pulls him close to his chest and kisses him, soft but deep and wet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Shall we?” Vesemir asks, right against his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier giggles again. “Yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Three days later, in a new inn room somewhere in a little fishing town along the Gwenllech, Jaskier wakes alone in bed again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks around and finds that Vesemir isn’t in the room, but there’s a little piece of parchment on the side table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir’s handwriting – and his use of an older dialect of Common to write – betrays his age. Jaskier gasps a little in recognition of the dialect, too, because that would mean Vesemir was taught to write nearly – a hundred and fifty years ago? At the </span>
  <em>
    <span>least.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Older</span>
  </em>
  <span>, indeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment to decipher the note, but it’s thankfully simple, and Jaskier has plenty of practice from years at Oxenfurt. His stomach swoops when he manages to make sense of it though; simple, yes, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Will return soon. Want you plugged and dressed when I arrive. – V</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sucks in a deep breath and wills his heart rate to slow, just a bit. When he looks around the room a little more closely, he sees the plug – the large one – sitting on a chair nearby with a vial of oil next to it. He doesn’t bother swallowing down the little whimper than pours out of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scrambles up to grab the plug and the oil, then perches back on the bed. The oil opens easily, and he’s careful not to spill as he coats his fingers then closes it again; he’ll need a lot of it to get the plug in, he knows. Just the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span> of pushing it into himself has him dizzy, his cock throbbing and filling with alarming speed between his legs. It’s easy to reach behind himself and rub slick fingers over his hole, though he knows he can’t get the perfect angle by himself. He’ll just have to work with what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> do, then rely on oil and gravity to help him with the plug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first finger makes him clench and shudder. He falls a little forward, balancing on his other hand on the bed, and settles with just that one finger for a bit. When he’s finally no longer feeling any sting, he works in a second, moaning softly at the feeling. He’ll need at least three – maybe </span>
  <em>
    <span>four</span>
  </em>
  <span> – to comfortably fit the plug, and even with that he knows it’ll be a bit of a stretch. His gut clenches; he almost can’t wait. But Vesemir would be angry and disappointed if Jaskier hurt himself – he was a day ago, when Jaskier didn’t tell him his feet hurt too badly to keep walking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir had punished him for keeping that secret, in fact. Nothing physical – no, he did something worse and forbade Jaskier from touching himself, as well as Vesemir, and then jerked off right in front of him. The memory still makes Jaskier feel all shivery and warm, even as his gut clenches with residual shame. He’d been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>sorry, and Vesemir had allowed him to lick him clean at the end because of his contrite begging, but nothing else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A third finger makes him hiss as it sinks in. He can’t get deep enough to really make it good, but he’s always loved even just the barest feeling of penetration, so it’s not too much of a disappointment. Stretching them out within himself makes him whimper, and he strains to push just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> deeper, to really get to the place where that stretch will ache and settle into his belly. He can’t quite manage it, unfortunately, but he knows the plug will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the three fingers are comfortable, he decides they’ll be enough; he’ll just go slow with the plug to make sure he doesn’t do something that would disappoint Vesemir. After considering for a moment, he decides it’ll be easiest if he sets the plug upright on the chair and straddles it. That way he can control the speed better, and it’ll be less likely to slip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He moves off the bed, then coats the plug in oil before placing it on the chair. It takes a bit of shifting around to find the right angle, but he gets there, and the sensation of the very tip just against his asshole makes him groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck,” he hisses. “Oh, gods.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He can’t just sink straight down, he knows. Instead, he sinks down a little and then pulls up, working himself further and further down each time, grunting and moaning with the strain and the pleasure. With each additional millimeter of stretch, his cock twitches and leaks, spattering the floor with precum; each rising pull makes him clench and whimper at the loss. Finally, </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he reaches the widest part, rim almost taut around the wood. He rises one last time before he pushes </span>
  <em>
    <span>past</span>
  </em>
  <span> it, and then he’s clenching hard around the flared base, sitting down on the chair so the tip of it presses right into his prostate. His cock throbs hard and bobs wildly between his legs. He grasps tightly around the base and tugs harshly at his balls with a grating whimper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hadn’t said he wasn’t allowed to come. But he also hadn’t said he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> allowed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier wants </span>
  <em>
    <span>desperately </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be good for the Witcher, for his </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy.</span>
  </em>
  <span> It’s almost a compulsion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a long, drawn out moment before his body calms and he feels confident in letting go of himself. He’s still clenching rhythmically around the hard, heavy weight of the toy, but that can hardly be avoided. Another while passes before he’s able to stand, shakily, and begin dressing. Each step jostles the plug, making him whine, but he perseveres, until he’s completely dressed. Only then does he let himself lean against the back of the chair with a panting breath, until he’s calmed a little. Then he gets back to it, gathering up their things and packing them away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That finished, he allows himself to sit back down on the bed, groaning when the toy jolts against his prostate. He allows himself a bit of indulgence, for just a second, rocking back and forth to feel the bursts of shocky pleasure. Soon enough, though, he knows if he keeps going he’ll come, and he forces himself to stop, to breathe through the sharp edge of denial.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s just managed to calm himself when he hears Vesemir at the door, key clicking in the lock. The Witcher is looking toward the bed expectantly when he steps inside the room, and Jaskier hopes his smile doesn’t look like a grimace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smirks at him. “Good boy,” he rumbles. “I can tell you followed the instructions I left. How do you feel, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Good,” he hisses. “F-full. It’s…it’s a lot. Want more – want to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir laughs. “We’ll see about that,” he says. “First things first, I want to talk to you about something. It’s important, alright, little bird? I want you listening to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier locks down on his muscles and nods. “Yes, Daddy, I’m listening. I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smiles. He shifts the chair so it’s in front of Jaskier and sits down. Their knees are nearly touching. “Do you know what a safeword is, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I, uh,” Jaskier swallows, feels the blush rising up his cheeks, “yeah, I do.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Good. Do you have one? I know I should have asked before now, but – well, you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>distracting, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier giggles, half-pleased and half-nervous. “I – thank you, Daddy,” he murmurs. “No, I don’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir nods. “Alright, well. I think you need one, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier thinks about what he knows about safewords – admittedly it’s not a lot, but enough, he thinks. “Uh. Lettenhove?” He doesn’t really mean it to be a question, but he’s endlessly desperate for Vesemir’s approval.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher quirks a brow. “That where you’re from, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows. “I – yes, Daddy. It’s a little place in Kerack.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums. Jaskier can tell he has questions, but none of them are voiced. “Alright. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lettenhove </span>
  </em>
  <span>it is. You say that, little bird, everything stops – no matter what. Doesn’t matter what we’re doing, if it’s sexual or just a conversation; that word stops everything, and I’ll make sure you get whatever you need right away. Understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy.” Jaskier nods. “But I – what if….” His voice trails off as he frowns, not sure how to phrase what he wants to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir nods at him, patient and encouraging even without words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier huffs and tries again. “What if I don’t need to – to </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>? What if I just need…a break? A breath, or something </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> to change?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smiles at him, and it’s beaming and </span>
  <em>
    <span>proud.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier’s heart thumps hard and he squirms, eyes rolling when it moves the plug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re so perfect, little bird,” Vesemir praises. “Such a good boy. If you’d like, you can have a word for that, too – so I know just to check in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Jaskier nods. “Uh….” He thinks for a moment, and figures he may as well use another place – one he’s not likely to use in regular conversation, of course. “Ponik?” It’s a tiny village he’s been to exactly once, and there’s nothing noteworthy enough about it to discuss or return to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir nods. “Alright,” he says, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ponik</span>
  </em>
  <span> for checking in, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lettenhove</span>
  </em>
  <span> for stop. We can have a more detailed talk about things like limits and wants, later, little bird. I think that will be enough for now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy.” Jaskier shifts a little, whining softly. “I – what are we doing, today?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More travel,” Vesemir says. “There’s a town nearby with a wraith problem. Easy enough to solve. Maybe you can even get a song written out of it, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles, heart thudding again for entirely different reasons. “Maybe,” he agrees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir nods, and then his smile sharpens a little. A shiver races down Jaskier’s spine. He’s starting to recognize that look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be riding,” he says, almost casual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier grunts. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He thinks about the rhythmic jostling of riding a horse, the way it radiates up his spine and through him on a normal day – with the plug settled in his ass, he’ll be nearly incoherent inside a minute, he’s sure. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Use your words if you need them, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shakes his head. “No, no, just – people might </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I won’t be able to – to control myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir nods. “We’ll be travelling on the back roads, today,” he says. “Less chance of seeing anyone. So you can be as loud and messy as you’d like, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jaskier shudders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir stands and reaches out a hand. Jaskier takes it, yelping a little when he’s yanked to his feet. The Witcher catches him with an arm around his waist, then catches his mouth in a kiss. Jaskier whines into it, melting easily into the embrace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll walk out of town,” Vesemir says when the kiss breaks. “Once we’re onto the road, you’ll get on the horse, hm? And then, if you’re good and do exactly as you’re told, I’ll reward you when we stop for the night. Sound good, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s head spins a bit. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, yes, Daddy, please.” He swallows and forces himself to focus, to look up into Vesemir’s eyes. “I promise I’ll be perfect for you, Daddy, do </span>
  <em>
    <span>exactly </span>
  </em>
  <span>as I’m told.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir flashes his teeth, half-grin half-snarl. “Of course you will be, pretty little bird. Or you’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>punished</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers. “Yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy. Now, gather your things so we can make good time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sucks in a steadying breath and does as he’s told. It takes a lot of willpower to remain upright and calm with the toy jostling around inside him with each step, but he manages it. All the way down to the stables, and out of town. It isn’t until they’re reached the road, near a little copse of trees, that he loses a bit of his composure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost feels bad, having to use his words so soon, but he stops that train of thought. They’re meant to be used. “Ponik,” he whimpers, and Vesemir stops walking, instantly wrapping an arm around Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, little bird?” he asks, soft and commanding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just – just need a break,” he mumbles into Vesemir’s shoulder. “Walking and – and staying composed – was </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy. Just a little break?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, little bird, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>course</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Vesemir pets through his hair. “Such a good boy, using your word. I’m so proud of you, little bird. Rest as long as you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Daddy.” Jaskier rests his head on Vesemir’s shoulder and just breathes for a long moment, until his heart has calmed a bit and he feels a little less shaky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Better?” Vesemir asks when Jaskier finally pulls back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy,” Jaskier answers. “Much better.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smiles and strokes a thumb across Jaskier’s cheek. “I’m glad, little bird. Now, should we get you up on the horse?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines, but nods. “Yes,” he says. “Yes, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy. Come on, up.” Vesemir helps him get his foot in the stirrup and then lifts him, until Jaskier can swing his leg over and settle into the saddle. Even mostly still, the jolt of the plug pressing deeper makes him tremble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he hisses, eyes rolling. Oh, today is going to be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He can’t wait.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hands in front, little bird,” Vesemir orders. Jaskier does as he’s told, gripping the rise at the front of the saddle. Tightening his legs around the horse makes him whine, but he’s got to do it, or any movement will make him slide straight off. “Good, just like that. Keep them there, little bird. No moving them. You can squirm and cry all you want, but if you move your hands, you’ll be punished. Understand me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wonderful. Shall we move on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sucks in a breath. “Uh – just, just one question.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir quirks a brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just – what if – I’m…,” Jaskier trails off, blushing scarlet. “What if I </span>
  <em>
    <span>come</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir grins, wide and wicked. “Then you come,” he answers. “Make a mess of your breeches. If you’re very good, and don’t move your hands, and do everything else I tell you to while we’re travelling – then I’ll lick you clean as part of your reward.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, oh fuck,” Jaskier bends at the waist, just a little, grip on the saddle going white-knuckle for a moment. “Fuck. Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles, and then he’s clucking at the horse and walking forward. The horse is just walking, and slowly at that, but the sensation shoots up Jaskier’s spine like lightning, making him cry out immediately. He squirms, legs tensing, but doesn’t move his hands. There’s a small part of him that’s curious as to what his punishment would be, but he likes rewards much better. So he doesn’t move his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier doesn’t know how long they’ve been walking now – time is meaningless when he’s this pleasure-drunk – but eventually, Vesemir speaks again. “I want you to tell me if you’re going to come, little bird,” he orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier hisses, cock throbbing fiercely in the confines of his breeches. “Yes, Daddy, I will.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy. Tell me right now how it feels.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gasps and his voice cracks a little around it. “So – so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy – so </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so in-intense. Like, like I’m being f-fucked but – but not, not the same. Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Daddy, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I – I don’t – </span>
  <em>
    <span>mmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier jolts when a particular step pushes the plug into his prostate harder than before. “Don’t know, just – </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Want to come, Daddy, want….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then come,” Vesemir says, and Jaskier can hear the smirk in his voice even though he can’t see it. “Come all over yourself, little bird. Want me to move faster?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright.” Vesemir clucks and the horse picks up speed, just a bit. The sensation is sharp and painful and so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier starts to cry, fat tears rolling down his cheeks and into his mouth where he’s panting and whining. His cock throbs hard, dangerously, and he’s so close, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so close</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he just needs –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be good for Daddy and make a mess of yourself, little bird. Imagine how it’ll feel coating you, how I’ll lick it off you later if you’re good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>– </span>
  <em>
    <span>that.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The orgasm rips through him, and he’s certain he’s too loud, but he can’t make himself close his mouth, can’t stop whining. Vesemir keeps them walking, making the pleasure drag out into oversensitive pain and then circle straight back to pleasure. Jaskier’s cock doesn’t even go soft, and he’s sobbing, now, his entire body shaking like a leaf in a windstorm as the pleasure just ratchets up and up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>up.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Da – dad – daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier completely loses track of time, and himself, and everything that isn’t the sound of Vesemir’s voice, his low chuckles and the pleasure-pain tearing through his body. He comes at least twice more that he knows of; past that, he’s so drunk on sensation and overstimulated that he may well just be experiencing a constant orgasm for all he knows. Vesemir slows and speeds the horse at random, making it so Jaskier can’t settle into a rhythm, never knows what to expect.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His voice is almost entirely gone, now, still raspy from the face-fucking their first night but wrecked entirely from the noise he’s making. Still, he keeps trying, whining and whimpering and screaming, all nonsense except the word </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span> interspersed like a prayer. He’s so out of it he doesn’t even notice when they stop, when the horse is led into the woods at the edge of the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Little bird, are you with me?” Vesemir’s voice is what brings him back. He’s aching, in both bad and good ways, and he’s no longer on the horse. Instead, he’s leaned up against a tree. He registers the smell of campfire smoke, and groans at the realization that Vesemir has stopped to camp all without him noticing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry, Daddy, sorry,” he pants wildly, “wanted – wanted to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just, just so much, feels too good and hurts and I want – I want – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush, little bird, hush,” Vesemir soothes. “You were good, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>good, so perfect for me. I want to give you your reward for being such a good boy. What do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s breath hitches. He only wants one thing, and it – it’ll hurt, it’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>ruin</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, but he thinks it’ll be totally worth it. “Fuck me,” he whispers. “Please – please fuck me. Wanna, wanna be full of your cum, please. Use – use the littler plug, after, to keep me stuffed. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daddy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sweet Gods,” Vesemir hisses. “Yes, of course, little bird, whatever you want for being so perfect for me today. But – promise me, little bird, if you need to stop you </span>
  <em>
    <span>use your words</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods frantically. “Will, Daddy, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>will</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I promise.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy. Alright, come on.” Vesemir pulls him from the tree, leading his mostly-useless body over to the fire. He’s pushed down onto a bedroll, the plug still tormenting him, and Vesemir quickly divests him of his breeches. “What a mess, little bird, look at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next thing Jaskier registers is a tongue, searing hot and wet, swiping across his thigh and then his balls. He moans whorishly and thrusts his hips up, into the touch. Slowly, Vesemir does exactly as promised and licks him clean, until his entire groin is tingling and cool from the spit, and his cock is rock hard, bobbing in the Witcher's face. Vesemir ignores that, though, instead kneeling up and starting to pull on the plug. Jaskier whines and forces himself to relax, to let the toy go, even as it feels like something is tearing away when Vesemir pulls it from his grasping hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, Daddy, please,” he gasps, mind reeling. “Empty, empty, need – need your cock, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, little bird, just – just one more second, be a good boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers but nods, and Vesemir leans away for a moment. When he returns, though, he presses slick fingers to Jaskier’s hole, sinking three inside him immediately. Upon pulling them out, he spreads them apart and pours a little shot of oil straight into Jaskier’s body, making him jolt weakly and try to clench with no success. There’s a few more perfunctory thrusts of the Witcher's fingers, but then they’re gone and the head of his cock is resting at Jaskier’s hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please, Daddy,” Jaskier babbles. “I’ll be good – I’ll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good,</span>
  </em>
  <span> please, please just fuck me – want your cock, please, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush, little bird.” Vesemir adjusts his knees and </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrusts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and his cock sinks into Jaskier’s body like a knife through hot butter. Jaskier keens, his entire body straining for a long moment with the spike of absolute pleasure tinged with a deep ache in his gut, then goes boneless, nothing more than a doll for Vesemir to manipulate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he begs, and Vesemir moves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s rough and hard and exactly what Jaskier wants, </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span>. There’s a nasty, wet sound with each thrust in, and then the low growl rumbling out of Vesemir’s chest with each pull out. Jaskier can’t even make himself clench, or reach up to grasp at the Witcher. He just lets himself be moved, a limp little fucktoy for his Witcher's enjoyment, and sobs through a completely dry orgasm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gods, little bird, going to – ” Vesemir snarls, and Jaskier jerks, hips tilting so that Vesemir fucks in just a </span>
  <em>
    <span>little</span>
  </em>
  <span> deeper on the next thrust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please Daddy, please come, please, want your cum inside me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir growls, low and animal and vibrating through Jaskier’s bones, and does just that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sobs and sobs and sputters out garbled versions of, “Thank you, Daddy,” until the Witcher has stopped grinding within him. Even then, his cock flexes, and Jaskier squirms with the feeling.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You still want the little plug?” Vesemir asks. “Be honest, little bird. It’s okay if you say no.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shakes his head. “No, no, want it, Daddy, please. Wanna wake up still sopping wet with you, sit on your cock again with breakfast, keep you nice and warm. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Filthy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Vesemir groans, but he leans away and comes back with the little plug in his hand. “Filthy mouth to match your filthy hole, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines. Vesemir chuckles and slowly pulls his cock out, then replaces it with the plug before Jaskier can even start to leak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy,” Jaskier sighs. “Fuck, so good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy, little bird, so good for Daddy,” Vesemir murmurs. “Rest now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rest,” Jaskier repeats. “Hmm. Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he’s gone.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>He and Vesemir travel together for weeks, and then months; they settle into a routine, a – a </span>
  <em>
    <span>relationship</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier might call it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is, ultimately, how he ends up here.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Here </span>
  </em>
  <span>being: kneeling almost naked on an outrageously soft cushion in the large, utilitarian dining hall of a crumbling castle in the high mountains, drooling messily around Vesemir’s soft cock. All while Vesemir and three other Witchers – for all intents and purposes, Vesemir’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sons</span>
  </em>
  <span> – chat casually and eat dinner above and around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s so hard he’s lightheaded, and he gave up on trying to control the trembling in his limbs before even a whole minute had passed. And by now he’s been kneeling, warming Vesemir’s cock, for…twenty minutes? Thirty? He can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> be sure; the haze of want and submission had settled over his mind like a blanket the moment Vesemir had given him an appraising look and ordered him to strip down and go to his knees. Time passes oddly when he’s like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir’s hand pets through his hair, and Jaskier startles slightly. His eyes flutter open to meet Vesemir’s where the Witcher is looking down at him; Vesemir smiles, and it’s soft and proud, though the edge of authority remains. “Feel alright, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier obviously can’t speak, and can’t nod without dislodging Vesemir’s cock either. Instead, he makes an affirmative sound low in his throat, eyes rolling when Vesemir grips at his hair harshly in response.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums, a low sound on the edge of a purr. He keeps one hand in Jaskier’s hair, brings the other one up to trace Jaskier’s lips, slowly teasing the tip of his thumb into Jaskier’s mouth alongside his cock. “Pretty little bird,” Vesemir murmurs. Jaskier tries to adjust his jaw, to accommodate the slight stretch of Vesemir’s thumb next to his cock, and thrills when Vesemir’s cock twitches against his tongue. Vesemir tuts softly, but doesn’t reprimand him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to put on a show, little bird, is that it?” he asks instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier can’t hold back the whine that spills out of him along with another sudden rush of saliva. The sound is muffled, warped by Vesemir’s cock still heavy in his mouth, but it echoes in the sudden silence anyway. Vesemir chuckles, looking away from Jaskier for a moment to glance around at the other three. Jaskier hears a handful of huffed breaths, the shuffling of feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows approximately where Eskel, Geralt, and Lambert are located around the rough-hewn wood table that he’s perched somewhat under. Now that the haze has lifted a bit, he tries to pinpoint who is making what noise; the lot of them can communicate stunningly well without words, so he spends a fair amount of his time trying to parse each one’s body language.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir, he has down – months of travel, of learning one another, will do that. Eskel, he feels, is fairly easy to read – an open book, almost, at least compared to Geralt. Geralt is like a stone wall with some very specific cracks. Lambert is – well, complicated. Sometimes he’s open and easy to understand, and other days he’s worse than Geralt. Depends on his mood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well?” Vesemir asks, and even though he doesn’t say any more, the others seem to understand what he’s asking. It’s obvious to Jaskier, of course, but he’ll always wonder how the four of them got so good at reading the unspoken in-between of each other’s words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, why not,” Lambert says, confident and easy. Jaskier shivers, jaw working to try and swallow for a split second before he remembers himself; Vesemir tuts at him again and gives a pointed yank to his hair. Jaskier gives him a wide-eyed, lash-fluttering look, and Vesemir rolls his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Eskel agrees softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt hums, and it sounds affirmative.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright,” Vesemir nods decisively. With careful movements, slow so Jaskier can follow easily, he scoots his chair back so that there’s nothing hidden by the table, then sprawls back against it like a king in his throne. “Go on, little bird, get Daddy hard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier jerks and whimpers, the sound of Vesemir’s growling voice saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy </span>
  </em>
  <span>still just as thrilling as it was the first time. More so, even, with the audience. He does as he’s told, ignoring the light ache in his jaw and tingly numbness of his lips to work his mouth around Vesemir’s cock. In slow pulses, along with the soft sucking of Jaskier’s mouth and clever twists of his tongue, he starts to harden, until Jaskier has to pull back a little or choke. Vesemir chuckles and rubs a thumb over Jaskier’s temple, soothing and electrifying all at once.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Vesemir coos. “Look at you, always so pretty on your knees. Don’t you agree?” The last part is clearly directed at the other three. There’s a general murmur of agreement that makes goosebumps flare up all over Jaskier’s arms. “You like that, don’t you, little bird,” Vesemir continues, back to looking down at Jaskier as he hardens further, beginning to rock his hips slightly. Jaskier follows the movement, tongue working and cheeks going hollow with each little thrust, face getting hotter and hotter with each wet </span>
  <em>
    <span>slurp</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “You like knowing they’re watching you, like being on display like this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shudders and squeezes his eyes shut, shifting his shoulders a little to put more effort into sucking Vesemir’s cock. He’s acutely aware of his state of undress, the way his cock is tenting his smallclothes obscenely, and it’s as if that awareness sharpens with each small noise from the other three. The shuffle of feet, the rustle of fabric, a bitten-off grunt from one of them – Jaskier whimpers at each new thing, eyes rolling back under his lids.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Enough,” Vesemir snaps suddenly. Jaskier stills immediately, eyes flying open to look at him; the Witcher is smiling, but there’s a mean glint to it, and the knowledge of what’s about to happen settles hot in Jaskier’s gut. He groans when his cock twitches, and Vesemir’s smile widens. “Arms behind your back, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His cock pulses, wet at the tip and soaking the front of his smallclothes, and he obeys. Even sat back on his heels, it offsets his balance just barely, enough to tip him forward, to sink Vesemir’s cock just a little deeper into his mouth, almost completely hard now. He whimpers and works his tongue around it in desperate little twists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir pets through his hair with a soft hiss. “Show me what you’ll do if you need to stop, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier brings one arm back to his front, tapping his fingers twice against Vesemir’s shin. Once demonstrated, he puts his arm back, gripping his elbows in the opposite hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perfect. Such a good boy,” Vesemir praises. His other hand, not in Jaskier’s hair, slides around to cup his throat, fingers just wedged behind the hinge of Jaskier’s jaw. The slightest pressure there makes Jaskier’s jaw go completely slack, drool dribbling over his lip and down his chin. The grip on his hair tightens, and Jaskier’s stomach flips. “Ready?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods as much as he can, barely even a movement, but this is hardly the first time they’ve done this. Vesemir knows his tells by now, knows the minute difference between a nod and a shake of his head even when he’s almost totally immobilized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s all the warning Jaskier gets; using the grip on his hair and his throat, Vesemir starts to move him. It’s shallow at first, just pushing the head of his cock along Jaskier’s tongue, painting it in the taste of his precome. When Jaskier whimpers for it, though, tries to lean just a little forward, to get a little more, he goes faster. And faster, and faster, until Jaskier is gagging and choking with each thrust into his throat, face sloppy with tears and spit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Lambert hisses, accompanied by a sudden, slick sound only barely audible above Jaskier’s hacking. Jaskier moans, the sound broken up and thick around the push of Vesemir’s cock. He’s gripping his elbows so tight his knuckles ache; with some effort he forces his eyes open to look up at Vesemir. Everything is blurry through the tears in his eyes, but he can see the fierce pleasure in Vesemir’s face, and it’s enough to make him groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher growls and moves </span>
  <em>
    <span>faster</span>
  </em>
  <span>; deeper, too. Jaskier whimpers around a gag. There’s more rustling, more slick sounds from the others; Jaskier’s cock jerks, the wet spot in his smallclothes the size of a dinner plate by now, wet linen clinging to the shape of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Such a good little cocksucker,” Vesemir rumbles. “Take me so well, little bird. Just like that. Let them see you.” His thumb shifts, rubbing across the bulge of him in Jaskier’s throat on the next thrust in; on the one after that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>presses</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Jaskier’s whole body convulses, heaving in the space between Vesemir’s knees. His vision goes spotty, black fading in around the edges, and he moves his arm to tap at Vesemir’s shin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, little bird,” Vesemir gasps, even as he makes a soft, wanting sound when his cock falls from Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier pants, hips flexing, and Vesemir wipes tears from his cheeks as he settles. “Alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whimpers. Vesemir smirks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Up,” he orders. “Turn around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a couple of tries for Jaskier to get his wobbly legs under himself, to lurch from his knees to mostly standing. Vesemir uses a guiding hand on his hip to turn him around, so he’s facing the other three. Lambert is unashamedly stroking himself, and quirks an insouciant brow when Jaskier meets his gaze. Eskel and Geralt also have their cocks out, but they’re more reserved with their touching – at least for now. Vesemir’s hand between his shoulder blades shoves him forward, until he’s bent at the waist, hands planted on the table in front of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Elbows,” Vesemir orders, and Jaskier drops to his elbows instead. The hand pressed between his shoulders trails down his spine to his ass, pulling his smallclothes down and spreading him with two fingers. Jaskier gasps and drops his head, hips tilting back and thighs spreading, until the linen still caught around them stops him. Presenting. Vesemir chuckles at the sight and gives him a light swat at the sensitive junction of his ass and thigh. He whimpers and pushes his hips back even more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eager</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Vesemir says, and his tone is praise and slight all at once. Jaskier shudders. “Eskel, go get some oil.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel makes a rough sound, but stands to do as he’s told immediately. Jaskier watches him, mouth watering at the way his cock sways, the shape of his ass as he turns to the kitchen. Vesemir swats at his ass again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s barely a minute later that Eskel returns with oil. He leans just close enough when he passes it over that Jaskier can feel his body heat, and it makes him whimper, head dropping further. His shoulders are hunched around his ears, as if that would hide how red and eager he is, how much he likes the rush of pride and humiliation at being watched like this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert’s eyes haven’t left his face since he was turned around. Geralt’s staring rather pointedly at his cock. Eskel can’t seem to decide where to focus, once he’s settled back into his seat. Jaskier has to squeeze his eyes shut, the sight of all three of them fixated on him alongside Vesemir petting lightly over his hole, just too much.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me you want this, little bird,” Vesemir orders. “Tell me you want me to open you up on my fingers, sink my cock into you while they watch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gasps. “Want it, Daddy,” he whines. “Want it so </span>
  <em>
    <span>much</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy.” Vesemir’s hands disappear from his body for a moment, then return, this time with purpose. Slick fingers rub at his hole, a warning, before a single finger sinks into him. Jaskier groans, cock bobbing wildly between his legs. At this point, one finger doesn’t even hurt; two is a tiny stretch, and three is more, but he’s basically always a bare handful of minutes from open. The word </span>
  <em>
    <span>cocksleeve</span>
  </em>
  <span> flits through his head and he grunts, hips jerking back as if there’s anything more to take inside past Vesemir’s knuckle. “You really do want it that badly, don’t you, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Daddy,” Jaskier gasps, throwing his head back when a second finger sinks in next to the first, exactly as easy as he’d expected it to be. “Fuck, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>. More, Daddy, want more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you do, eager little thing.” Vesemir tuts, something almost like disappointment edging the sound, and Jaskier’s stomach twists, pleasant and sour simultaneously. “Look at you, hardly need any prep anymore.” A third finger pushes at his rim, and Jaskier makes a short, broken sound, hips jerking back again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to ride my fingers, little bird? Really show off just how filthy you are, begging to be fucked?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier pants, breathless and wordless for a long moment, and then that third finger pushes inside him and he keens. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, yes, please, anything, I want – want </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles. “I know, little bird.” He fingers Jaskier for another few minutes, chuckling with each winded groan and whine, outright laughing when he takes his fingers away and Jaskier makes a soft, petulant sound.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Patience</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Vesemir says, half order and half sneer. There’s a slick sound and then Vesemir’s hands, still wet, are wrapping around Jaskier’s hips and pulling him back. The head of his cock pushes inside slowly with a wet sound, making Jaskier shudder and spasm around the intrusion. Vesemir just grunts and keeps pulling him back, steady but relentless, until Jaskier is seated in his lap, clenching hard around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Vesemir hisses, teeth dragging sharp across Jaskier’s nape. “Barely need any prep but still so </span>
  <em>
    <span>tight</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little bird. Such a good boy for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines, squirming in Vesemir’s hold. It’s unbreakable, he knows; they’ve played that game, just to let Jaskier really understand how much strength Vesemir has. He’d come all over himself three times before Vesemir had even properly touched him that night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit still, little bird,” Vesemir orders, and Jaskier whimpers, shivering, but does. Vesemir lets go of his hip to shove at his thighs, forcing him to drape them over Vesemir’s knees, spreading him and putting everything from his throat to his hole grasping at the base of Vesemir’s cock on display. Jaskier whimpers, high and frantic, no other outlet for the arousal surging through his blood when he’s been told to hold still. It only gets worse when Vesemir wraps a hand around his cock, grip light but slick and hot as a brand. “I want you to sit here and keep my cock warm while you watch them get off on the sight of you. Once they’ve all come, </span>
  <em>
    <span>then</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’ll fuck you the way you want. If you’re very, very good, I’ll let you come, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier’s thigh muscles twitch rapidly as he fights the immediate urge to writhe, to vent his desperation with movement. “Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Yes, yes, I’ll – I’ll be so good, I promise, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>promise</span>
  </em>
  <span>. K-keep your cock warm. Hold still. Just – </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir chuckles. He doesn’t stop stroking Jaskier’s cock, though he keeps his grip light; teasing, not enough to make him come. Not even close. Jaskier’s pulse is thundering in his ears. “Go on, then, pups. Give him something to look at.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier doesn’t know where to </span>
  <em>
    <span>look</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all three of them unfairly attractive. Eskel sprawls lazily, all easy confidence right now despite being so vastly different in the light of day, cock thick and red in his hand, leaking copiously. Lambert looks as cocky as ever, currently just fondling his own balls, smirking with his eyes fixed on where Jaskier’s thighs strain over Vesemir’s lap. Geralt is toying with his foreskin, trailing light fingers up and down his length, face as unreadable as ever but gaze intense on Jaskier’s face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jaskier pants it like a mantra, again and again as Vesemir’s stroking keeps him violently aware of his body, where he’s impaled on the Witcher’s cock. He’s clenching rhythmically around the base of him, involuntary, and Vesemir’s soft grunts each time only make it worse, make him </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time stretches and pulls, crawling by at the same time it disappears in a blink. Jaskier is panting, unable to get a decent breath, mantra of </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> devolved into wordless grunts and whines. Geralt, Eskel, and Lambert are all touching themselves properly now, and he still doesn’t know where to look. Eskel, with his face slack and eyes shut in rapturous pleasure; Lambert who is </span>
  <em>
    <span>still fucking smirking</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even as his eyes flutter with bliss; or Geralt, who’s eyes have gone half-lidded as he bites his lip and continues to stare intensely at Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He settles for glancing rapidly between the three of them, feverishly taking in everything he sees, every little muscle jump and twitch. Lambert comes first, cock throbbing visibly as he spills over his fingers; he makes a low, broken sound that sends a bolt of want arcing across Jaskier’s nerves. His own cock throbs sympathetically, and Vesemir growls out a laugh in his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come here, Lambert,” Vesemir says. “Let him clean you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers, mouth already open. Lambert takes a moment to gather himself, but then he’s up and skirting the table, coming to stand in front of Jaskier. He holds out his hand, coated in cum, and Jaskier strains toward it, flicking his tongue over the very tips of the Witcher’s fingers. Lambert chuckles and then groans as he sinks his fingers into Jaskier’s mouth, compressing his tongue until he gags. After that, he lets Jaskier have the control. Jaskier only pulls back when the only thing he can taste is his own spit and the salt-tang of Lambert’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Vesemir purrs. “Geralt, Eskel, you as well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently while Jaskier was cleaning Lambert’s hand, Geralt came. He doesn’t bother with the play that Lambert did, just letting Jaskier have his hand to clean off, though his eyes widen slightly when Jaskier goes at his task with enthusiasm. That done, Jaskier turns his head to find Eskel still stroking himself, looking </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrecked</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s make sure there’s no mess, little bird,” Vesemir says, and shoves at Jaskier’s shoulders so he’s forced forward. The change in angle makes his gut clench and his mouth drops open in a wild moan just in time for Eskel to come straight onto his tongue. He curls his tongue just in time to keep the mess of it from sliding back out of his mouth, and as soon as Eskel is finished, tips his head back to swallow. Eskel groans and shoves his fingers past Jaskier’s lips next, letting him lap at what ended up there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> When he’s finished with that, Vesemir yanks him back up to sitting. He watches Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel return to their seats, only Geralt having the decency to put his cock away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy, little bird, being the perfect little toy for us, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier cries out and bites his lip near bloody to stop himself from squirming. Luckily, he doesn’t have to worry about staying still for much longer; Vesemir shifts in one fluid, too-quick movement, and Jaskier finds himself flat on his feet, bent over with his face on the table, arms hanging uselessly from his shoulders. With a little effort, he brings them up to brace on the table, tipping his hips up and back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going to fuck you now, little bird,” Vesemir growls, and Jaskier whines, nodding as best he can with his cheek pressed to the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy, please, want you – want – </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir doesn’t bother with slow, hardly even manages a rhythm, just fucking near-violently into Jaskier’s pliant body. It only takes a dozen strokes before he’s coming, pressed deep inside so that Jaskier can feel his cock twitch with each pulse. Jaskier whimpers and writhes, cock splattering precome all over the floor at his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please, Daddy, I’ve – I’ve been good, please let me come, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, need to come.” His begging is breathless, voice shot through with desperation and cracking each time Vesemir’s hips rock against his as the Witcher comes. There’s a frantic moment where Jaskier is certain he’ll be denied, that he’ll have to </span>
  <em>
    <span>wait</span>
  </em>
  <span>, even though he was good, but then Vesemir’s hand finds his cock again. Barely a stroke and half brings him off, knees buckling as Vesemir cups a hand over the head of him to catch the mess. Only once he’s stopped convulsing, instead moved on to wild trembling, does Vesemir drag him upright again, his softening cock still inside. Jaskier whimpers softly but lets himself be directed, until he’s more-or-less standing, Vesemir holding him against his chest. Slowly, pointedly, the Witcher smears his own cum over his chest, rubbing it into his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shudders, swallowing hard. “Th-thank you, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, little bird.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Eskel is the first to come to him alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher corners him in a little alcove near the library, crowding him in against the rough stone wall face-first. Jaskier lets him, hands bracing at the level of his face, reveling in the sheer bulk and heat of Eskel pressing in and around him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright?” Eskel asks, low voice rumbling straight through Jaskier’s chest and right to his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier breathes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are your words, pretty thing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lettenhove</span>
  </em>
  <span> for stop,” Jaskier recites easily, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ponik</span>
  </em>
  <span> for check in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve discussed this, of course. Vesemir took one look at Jaskier practically salivating at the sight of his – his </span>
  <em>
    <span>pups</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as he calls them, and immediately started plotting to give Jaskier everything he could ever want. Jaskier had, of course, ridden him </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>enthusiastically in thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But that’s getting off-topic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’ve discussed this – </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> of them. Jaskier belongs to Vesemir, in a fashion, but the others are welcome to sample. It had been a very long and occasionally awkward conversation full of things like safewords, and limits, and entirely too much dirty talk for a serious conversation, but it had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Eskel cornering him, pressing him into the wall, cock already thickening and pressed pointedly to Jaskier’s ass, is more or less expected. Jaskier’s blood rushes south quickly enough to send him dizzy for a split second, and then Eskel is worming an arm around his waist, pulling him back against his wide chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier giggles and goes, easily pliant for the manhandling. He hears Eskel husk out a laugh, as well, before he’s suddenly being swung up and into Eskel’s arms. He squeals, latching onto the Witcher’s shoulders with his nails; Eskel just chuckles again and starts toward his bedroom.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s only put down once the door is kicked closed behind them. Even then, Eskel doesn’t let go of him, keeping on hand on his shoulder as he leans down and catches Jaskier’s mouth in a filthy kiss. Jaskier throws his arms around Eskel’s neck and sinks into it easily, arching closer and whimpering with each domineering thrust of the Witcher’s tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You remember,” Eskel murmurs, “what we talked about?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier pants for a moment, head a little fuzzy. “Uh – Signs,” he manages, thoughts scattered. “You want – you like to use the Signs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel hums an agreement and nods, nipping a trail of gentle lovebites down the column of Jaskier’s throat. “Good,” he murmurs. “Vesemir said you were perfect, but I like seeing it for myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines. “I – I want to be good,” he says, “tell me – tell me how to be good for you. Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Eskel breathes, and his teeth sink into Jaskier’s shoulder through his shirt. Not very hard, enough to bruise but only lightly. Even still, Jaskier shudders and moans, moving closer to the pressure. “You’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>already</span>
  </em>
  <span> doing so well, pretty thing. Strip and lay down.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel backs away from him only once he’s certain Jaskier can stand on his own; Jaskier flushes and gives him a small, coy smile before quickly divesting himself of his clothes and climbing into the bed. He sprawls onto his back in the center and turns his head to look at Eskel. The Witcher is undressing as well, at a slower pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier watches with interest, chewing his lip to hold back the little gasps that want to work out of him with each little piece of Eskel that’s revealed. Eskel catches sight of him staring and smirks, but doesn’t move any faster or slower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to blindfold you,” he says, once he’s finally naked and approaching the bed. “Is that alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier forces his gaze up, from Eskel’s thick cock to his face instead, and swallows. “Y-yeah,” he says, his own cock twitching.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel smiles down at him, then turns to dig in a little basket nearby. When he turns back, he has a long strip of silk in his hands, blood red and already folded up. Jaskier pushes up onto his elbows as Eskel kneels on the bed at his side, but Eskel doesn’t tie the silk around his eyes immediately. Instead, the Witcher leans down and kisses him again, just as filthy as before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you remember what I said about the Signs?” he asks when the kiss breaks. “Which ones?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “Axii,” he names. “Mind control. And Igni. Fire. Yrden. A…trap?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t use Yrden this time,” Eskel says. “But the other two – are you still….” He looks suddenly unsure, the façade of confidence dropping just like that, and Jaskier ducks forward to kiss him again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jaskier answers. “Just – nothing permanent, like we said.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel nods. “Yes, of course. Gods, you are </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier flushes, reaching out to tug gently at the silk still clasped in Eskel’s hands. Eskel startles a little, as if he’d forgotten he had it, but smirks at the reminder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Close your eyes,” he orders softly. Jaskier does, taking a steadying breath. The silk slides across his chest, his neck, and then it’s slipping over his eyes; Eskel’s hands are gentle but sure as he ties the material around Jaskier’s head, then makes a few adjustments. “Can you see?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier opens his eyes and finds pure darkness, tinged just slightly red, as if he still has his eyes closed. He shakes his head, a slow shudder of arousal rolling through him at the sudden helplessness. He can hear so much better now, his brain trying to compensate for the missing sense by focusing on the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel chuckles. “Good.” He strokes a hand down Jaskier’s chest, making him jump; they both chuckle, and then Eskel is just…petting him. All over, his chest, his belly, his thighs and throat. Each touch comes as a surprise, but the little jolt with each is just making Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His cock is throbbing, jumping and drooling precome within a few minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he gasps, unable to help the way he’s writhing, hips flexing with each touch that’s close to his cock but not close </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I – I’ll be good, I promise, just </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> touch me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are </span>
  </em>
  <span>being good, pretty thing,” Eskel says, and Jaskier can easily hear the smirk in his voice. “And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> touching you. What more do you want?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines. “Touch – touch my cock, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The air shifts a little, and there’s a fingertip pressed right against his slit. Jaskier whimpers and jerks, pulsing out precome around that fingertip. Eskel makes a low sound and trails his now-wet fingertip down the jumping vein along the bottom of Jaskier’s cock. The touch just makes the vein pulse harder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier hisses. “Th-</span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel sucks in a breath. “Fuck,” he mutters. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” His touch disappears, and Jaskier makes a broken, wanting sound in reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want – want to use Axii, pretty thing,” Eskel murmurs. “Can I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows and nods. “Yes, please,” he breathes, cock twitching. He feels Eskel shift again, and then there’s – </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, something is different, Jaskier can’t pin it, but –</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His mind goes deeply, blissfully blank.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he gasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me how you feel, pretty thing.” Eskel’s voice is…echoing, but not really, it’s like Jaskier hears it and then his blood rushes along to the cadence of it, everything in him yearning to do exactly as he’s told.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t fight it. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he sighs. It’s the truth; he’s floating in wonderful nothingness, soft and warm and surrounding him. His arousal is there, but distant, just a pleasant ache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad,” Eskel says, and Jaskier feels that echo-but-not, too, something like muted glee suffusing him. “I want you to </span>
  <em>
    <span>relax</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier, pretty thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gasps a little as he feels complete and utter lassitude fill his limbs, melting him down into the bed as if he’s become entirely formless. He’s never felt relaxation so acute, and his mind goes immediately hazy with it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Eskel coos. “So good, pretty thing, look at you. You’re so relaxed, aren’t you? Couldn’t clench up or move a muscle even if you wanted to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Co…couldn’t,” Jaskier echoes, tongue heavy in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you don’t want to, do you? You just want to relax, to be good for me, don’t you, pretty thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Relax</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier parrots. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, ye…yes, want to be good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right, Jaskier. You’re going to be so good for me, all relaxed and loose. You’ll open right up. You feel so empty, don’t you? So empty it hurts.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a pang of pain in Jaskier’s gut, distant at first and then </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediate</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He gasps, unable to move as his gut </span>
  <em>
    <span>aches</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as he realizes that Eskel is </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s so empty, so empty – “So empty, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel</span>
  </em>
  <span>, hurts, please….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright, pretty thing,” Eskel soothes. “You’re alright. I’ll make it better. You trust me to make it better, don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gasps again as the pain recedes just as suddenly as it came on. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he slurs. “Yes, trust…. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eskel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s hands on his thighs, one on his knees after that, pushing his legs up and </span>
  <em>
    <span>open</span>
  </em>
  <span>, wide enough to stretch. Jaskier whimpers, but he’s – so heavy, he can’t even fight, limbs just collapsing into the position Eskel pushes them to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So good for me, pretty thing, look at you. So relaxed, bet I could just slick up my cock and sink into you right away. I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just get you nice and wet and work my cock into bit by tiny bit, until you’re impaled, squirming on me and begging for more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel’s words hit Jaskier’s system like a fucking drug. He manages to push past the relaxation in his limbs for a split second to jerk his hips, and then he’s back to a melted pile of nerve endings on the sheets, groaning. Eskel chuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can feel everything, pretty thing,” he murmurs. “And it all feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, doesn’t it? So much pleasure from everywhere in your body, but you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t come</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier wails. Pleasure so intense it borders pain floods his system, his whole body tingling and burning and thrumming with energy, despite the way he can’t seem to move, limbs too heavy to writhe. His cock throbs dangerously, pulsing as if he’s coming, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he wails again, only for it to crack and pitch when something slick rubs over his hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher chuckles, and then there’s a finger sinking into him. “Relax, pretty thing, calm down. Gonna open you up and then you won’t be empty anymore, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers at the reminder that he’s empty, that his gut is aching with absence. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being so good,” Eskel says. “Such a good boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A second finger sinks inside him with as little resistance as the first, and his hips arch just enough to shove them a tiny bit deeper. Eskel growls, a low sound that Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>feels</span>
  </em>
  <span> more than he hears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, pretty thing, you want me that badly?” he rumbles. “If you want it so badly, be a good boy and ride my fingers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suddenly, Jaskier can move, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With abandon. Eskel’s fingers are good, so good, calloused and thick and long enough to reach right where he needs, but he’s so empty still, it’s not </span>
  <em>
    <span>enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>More</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he begs. “More, Eskel, </span>
  <em>
    <span>empty</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel chuckles, and a third finger shoves in beside the other two without ceremony. And no pain, either; Jaskier whimpers and moves faster, no rhythm to his hips, just manic desperation. Even three fingers isn’t enough, and it’s barely a minute later that Jaskier is begging all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More, more, </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he pants, hips still working, entire body jolting with each stroke inside, “more, more, need more, want </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A fourth finger pushes into him, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to be coming, his whole body convulsing in a steady rhythm, but he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He howls, nails tearing into the sheets, pleasure simmering so hot under his skin he’s certain it must be shifting like disturbed water. Tears are streaming from his eyes, soaking the silk covering, and he just keeps begging, dipping in and out of coherence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mo – oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> mmm, more, mm…</span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me you want my cock, pretty thing. Beg me for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The words tumble out of Jaskier’s mouth without the need for his brain. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Cock</span>
  </em>
  <span>, want it, want your cock so badly, Eskel, please, please fuck me, I’ll – I’ll do anything, be so good for you, want it, want it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>want it, please.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel growls and then his fingers are gone. Jaskier’s stomach twists fiercely and he sobs, but before he can piece together any more words, Eskel’s cock is replacing them. Jaskier keens, and then keeps keening when it doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eskel’s cock long and thick and splitting him in half.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eskel, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel,</span>
  </em>
  <span> want – please – please, please, gonna – want – let me – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He knows it’s disjointed, knows that nothing he says makes any sense, but he can’t do anything more than pant and gasp and beg between jolts of total rapture as Eskel’s cock finally fills that empty space inside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pretty, pretty thing, all stretched out on my cock,” Eskel sighs. “Come for me, Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His orgasm and the release of the Sign wash over him at once, proper consciousness slamming into him like a well-placed punch followed closely by the whitewash of pleasure. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>screams</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So godsdamned tight, pretty thing, so good, look at you,” Eskel is cooing, hips rocking in tiny increments as Jaskier slowly, slowly comes down from the clouds. Jaskier whimpers brokenly, and Eskel leans down, scoops him up so they’re pressed together, from their hips where they’re joined to their throats. Jaskier slings weak arms around Eskel’s shoulders and practically burrows closer, wriggling as he does and making both of them groan. “Feel okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Melitele’s tits, that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>incredible</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier slurs. “Fuck me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel laughs. “Greedy,” he chides, but he does as he’s been asked, hips working slowly at first and then faster. Jaskier whines, rubbing his face against Eskel’s throat, hyper aware of the wet silk clinging to his face, of the way the blindfold enhances everything else. Touch, hearing, </span>
  <em>
    <span>smell</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Eskel smells so good. This was something Jaskier already knew – even when the Witchers are dirty from work or training they all smell so good </span>
  <em>
    <span>all the time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it’s deeply unfair – but now it’s at the forefront, his nose working almost twice as hard as his other senses to make up for his lack of sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then he notices </span>
  <em>
    <span>heat.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not normal heat, not like what’s building between his and Eskel’s bodies as the Witcher moves, but something </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>, originating from Eskel’s hands on his back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier gasps, arching to press closer. It’s – it’s a lot, almost too hot to bear, but it doesn’t hurt. “Oh, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You like that?” Eskel asks, though the confidence in his tone indicates he knows the answer. His hips move a little faster, one hand wrapping tightly around Jaskier’s hip to move him along. The touch is just as hot on his hip as it was on his back, and Jaskier pants, squirming as much as he can in Eskel’s hold. He doesn’t want to get </span>
  <em>
    <span>away</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not really, but the sensation is so intense, and his hindbrain wants him to escape it. Too hot, too hot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jaskier whines. The sound breaks into something formless and high pitched when Eskel pushes him back down onto the bed, angle forcing his cock right against Jaskier’s prostate on each thrust. And his hands are still so hot, burning without actually burning, as Eskel passes them over his shoulders, his ribs. His cock is already half-hard again, and even without his sight, he knows what’s coming next.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even anticipating it, he’s nowhere near prepared for the reality of it. Eskel’s hand wraps around his cock, touch light but steady, and he whimpers, writhing wildly even as he tries to press closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first stroke of Eskel’s hand, so hot, bordering so close to pain but </span>
  <em>
    <span>not quite</span>
  </em>
  <span>, makes Jaskier start crying again. The next handful of strokes send him convulsing, legs kicking; after that, he surrenders to the sensation, sobbing and whining and </span>
  <em>
    <span>begging</span>
  </em>
  <span>, near incoherent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at you, pretty thing,” Eskel murmurs. “So good for me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> good.” The entire time, he hasn’t stopped moving, fucking into Jaskier with steady rhythm, fast and deep and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, enough to jolt Jaskier up the bed if Eskel didn’t have such a good hold on him. Jaskier just moans in response, hips jerking, hissing at the heat still emanating from Eskel’s palms. It feels like it must be burning him, but it’s not, because each time Eskel’s hands move somewhere else, the skin feels almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>chilled</span>
  </em>
  <span>, there’s no lingering pain.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier pants, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel,</span>
  </em>
  <span> please, want – want – </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel </span>
  </em>
  <span>– ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel chuckles, and the heat disappears suddenly; Jaskier doesn’t have the chance to miss it before he’s suddenly back in that empty, blissful space from before. Axii, again. “Tell me what you want, pretty thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hisses and arches up, tossing his head, words pouring out of him without any thought. “Want to come,” he answers, voice wavering but clear as day, “want to come again, want you to come inside me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Eskel. Want you to fill me up, want to be so good you’ll want me again and again and again – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck.” Eskel grunts, and he must break the Sign again because Jaskier finds himself in his own head once more, the sudden return jarring enough to make him squeak. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier, you – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There might have been an ending to that sentence if Eskel hadn’t started stroking Jaskier’s cock again, causing Jaskier to clenche so hard he fucks up Eskel’s rhythm. The Witcher half-collapses into him, but even with the break in his steady fucking, he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It just gets sloppier, faster and slower in turns, and he keeps stroking Jaskier’s cock alongside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers, suddenly so close to the edge he can taste it, body starting to tremble. “Fuck, Eskel,” he whines, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please – want – </span>
  <em>
    <span>make me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” It’s all he can get out before he devolves into incoherence again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel apparently grasps his meaning, though, groaning low before he shifts up again. Jaskier can almost recognize the feeling of the Sign, now, as it tumbles him down once more. He makes a soft, broken sound, and Eskel growls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come for me, Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It hits like a bolt of lightning, the instant compelling order and the orgasm combining to light Jaskier’s system on fire. Jaskier can’t be certain if he makes any noise, because suddenly his ears are filled with the rushing of his blood as pleasure crests over him like a tsunami, and distantly, he feels Eskel stop moving.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, just as the sharp pleasure whiting out Jaskier’s reality starts to fade, Eskel’s voice is suddenly in his ear, rumbling like thunder. “Again, pretty thing. Come for me again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the pleasure so knife-sharp he can’t breathe for a long, drawn-out moment, but he just scrabbles at Eskel and whines through it, spasming helplessly on the Witcher’s cock. Eskel murmurs softly at him, all of it save for the gentling sound of his voice lost to Jaskier’s fried senses, but Jaskier appreciates the comfort of it all the same. He doesn’t recognize the Sign breaking, this time, but when he finally comes down from wherever the two consecutive orgasms sent him, he can tell he’s not under its influence anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he groans, and his voice is completely shot. He must have been screaming. Just the thought of it, of how loud he must have gotten while totally disconnected from reality, makes him shiver. “Gods, Eskel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel chuckles and nuzzles his temple. “Close your eyes,” he murmurs. “Gonna take that blindfold off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes Jaskier a moment, because he’s still so pleasure-soaked he’s not sure if his eyes are open or closed at all. But he manages to parse it and close them. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel’s hands are gentle as they come up behind his head, untying the silk and peeling it gently from Jaskier’s face where it’s a bit stuck with slowly drying saltwater. The light is harsh even through Jaskier’s eyelids, and he’s grateful for Eskel’s foresight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably not the first time he’s done something like this, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, why does that thought make Jaskier’s stomach drop pleasantly? He ignores that for now and slowly, slowly starts to pry his eyes open, hissing when the light hurts a bit. Before he can get them totally open, Eskel is in his view, blocking the light. It’s much more pleasant to see his face, and Jaskier smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” he rasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel grins. “Hi there, pretty thing. Feel okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hums and stretches, taking stock of his body. “Feel great,” he replies. He shifts and feels the way Eskel’s spend is leaking out of him. “…messy, though.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel laughs. “Baths?” he asks. “I can wash your hair for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shivers. “Oh, that sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>magnificent</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s first one-on-one tryst with Lambert happens entirely because he’s incapable of controlling his facial expressions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In his defense, he’s not had to reign in his expression – or his words, or…anything, really – for months. He’s a bit out of practice with it, in fact, which will be unfortunate to deal with when winter ends, but – that’s beside the point.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s out of practice with not letting his face give away his thoughts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when he watches Lambert spend a morning playing with knives, well. He’s sure what he’s thinking can be seen by the gods themselves; a handful of Witchers should have absolutely no problems. Which is why it’s not particularly shocking when Lambert looks over to catch him staring and </span>
  <em>
    <span>smirks</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all lazy arrogance. The look itself makes heat settle in Jaskier’s stomach, so when the Witcher speaks, it’s just that much worse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh no, little one,” Lambert drawls. “You don’t get a knife to start.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier gasps, mostly involuntary. “What </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>I get, then?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert tilts his head a little, still smirking, and gives Jaskier a slow once-over, still casually tossing one of his knives around with one hand. Jaskier tries to watch his face, but the glinting blade keeps grabbing his attention; he’s sure Lambert notices.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Lambert throws the knife at a nearby target instead of tossing it back into the air. He hits dead-center all while still looking contemplatively at Jaskier, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course he does</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Jaskier shivers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come to my room and find out, hm?” Lambert says after a moment, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thud</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the knife embedding into the target still echoing in Jaskier’s head. The Witcher turns and walks into the castle without another word or glance. Once Jaskier has regained some amount of control over his dick, he scrambles up to follow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds Lambert already halfway to naked and promptly loses what little control he’d managed to grasp.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he mutters, and once he’s in the room, starts tearing at his own clothes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert laughs and grabs his wrists, using the hold to shove him back, back, until he’s against the wall next to the bed. The kiss is filthy, more teeth than kiss, and Jaskier whimpers and goes almost totally limp, letting Lambert’s body pressed against his hold him up. Lambert laughs again when the kiss breaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy, aren’t you, little one,” he teases, trailing sharp teeth over the curve of Jaskier’s neck. Jaskier pants and tips his head to the side, permission and invitation at once. Nearly all of his bruises have faded, the Witchers agreed on some nonsense about wanting to give his skin time to heal properly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> the bruises to heal properly. He likes being marked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gets the feeling Lambert will be perfectly willing to indulge him in that. The thought of that knife, the casual, confident way Lambert handled it, makes him shiver all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>So</span>
  </em>
  <span> easy,” Lambert chuckles. “Gods, I could get you to do anything, couldn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “Yes.” Lambert is still just scraping his teeth along his throat, a hint of threat in it, mostly tease. “Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please what, little one?” Lambert asks, still a little taunting. “Tell me what you want, Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bite me</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jaskier hisses when Lambert’s teeth drag over a sensitive spot just under his jaw.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” The considering hum vibrates through Jaskier’s skin, making him jerk a little. “Pretty sure I heard something about giving you time to heal, little one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines. “I’ve had plenty of time,” he says. “I hardly have any bruises left. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert chuckles again. “You want to be marked that badly?” he asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods a little frantically. Lambert huffs, a laugh in all but sound, and then his teeth are sinking into the curve of Jaskier’s neck, right above his pulse.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier gasps, eyes rolling at the sudden flare of pleasure echoed with a deep ache. “Fuck, Lambert, feels so </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert releases him, but stays close, licking indulgently over the indents from his teeth. “You like pain, don’t you,” he says, and it’s not a question at all – both because it’s just been clearly demonstrated </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> because they’ve literally talked about this – but Jaskier nods as if it was one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Lambert says. “Want to hurt you, little one. Keep dreaming of slapping your face until you cry, leaving bruises in the shape of my fingers on your throat.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s stomach swoops. “Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whimpers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert laughs again before he lets go of Jaskier’s wrists and steps back. “Get rid of your clothes,” he orders. “On the bed on your knees.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier groans at the loss of contact, but moves quickly after that. He sheds his clothes with no thought to where they land, then scrambles onto the bed, settling onto his knees facing Lambert.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher looks over him for a moment before nodding with a smirk. “Good, little one,” he praises. He turns and opens a drawer, pulling something out of it that Jaskier can’t see at first; when he turns back, he tosses it over. A vial of oil. Lambert snags a nearby chair and sits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Open yourself up,” he orders. “Put on a good show for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines and fumbles to grab the oil, pouring probably too much over his fingers. Lambert chuckles and he feels blood rush to his cheeks and spread down his chest. He ignores the mild burn of embarrassment and spreads his knees, until he’s got a solid base so he can lean back and press slick fingers to his hole. The first touch makes him gasp, makes his eyes flutter. Lambert makes a low, approving noise at the sight of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the interest of </span>
  <em>
    <span>putting on a show</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier goes much slower than he wants to. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Much</span>
  </em>
  <span> slower, to a point that he’s whining for more before he’ll give it to himself. When he manages to force his eyes open to look at Lambert, he looks practically ravenous, and the thrill that goes through him makes him clench around his fingers and whine. Lambert’s grin sharpens.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” he praises softly. “Such a slut, little one. Look at you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier just whines again and starts teasing himself with a third finger, pulse jumping and cock throbbing with the exhilaration of being watched, the dirty edge in Lambert’s voice. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Please what, little one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want – </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier loses his train of thought for a moment as he finally adds the third finger, “want – what you said, earlier. Hit me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert is up from his chair and standing in front of Jaskier, one knee up on the bed to bring him closer, in the space of a heartbeat. Jaskier gasps and then moans, working his fingers harder and faster. One of Lambert’s hands lands on his chest, sliding up to his throat, around his jaw, to rest on his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Give me your words, little one,” he breathes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let – Lettenhove for stop,” Jaskier pants, “Ponik for check in. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lambert.” His skin is humming, anticipation like magic over his skin. Goosebumps cover his arms, his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert hums. “Good boy.” And then his hand moves; Jaskier doesn’t have the chance to brace before it’s back. The slap isn’t hard, but it stings and sends his head to the side a bit all the same. He loses his breath on a whimper, turning his head back to nuzzle against Lambert’s palm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel good, little one?” Lambert’s thumb strokes over the rise of his cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jaskier says, voice wavering. “More.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert snorts. “Of course you want more.” But he doesn’t object. The next slap is harder, sends Jaskier’s head further to the side. He whines through clenched teeth, swaying forward as the rush goes through him. Lambert puts a hand on his chest to balance him, still thumbing across the sting his palm left. Jaskier can feel the heat where it’s reddened and groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Lambert’s thumb shoves into his mouth, and Jaskier moans around it before twisting his tongue around the knuckle, looking at Lambert with his eyes half-lidded. He’s still three fingers deep inside himself, just moving to feel it at this point, making short, breathy sounds each time he manages a good angle. Still can’t manage the </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span> angle, but frankly, that’s what his Witchers are for, isn’t it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You look so needy, little one,” Lambert murmurs, his tone a perfect mix of adoration and avarice. He pushes his thumb a little deeper into Jaskier’s mouth, making a soft sound when Jaskier just sucks on it, eyes rolling. His other hand slides up from Jaskier’s chest to rest on his other cheek. “Want to slap you again, make your face all red and pretty.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier slurs around his thumb, something that might have been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> in another life. Lambert smirks and doesn’t bother removing his thumb to ask Jaskier to repeat himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This slap is a little softer, but only just. Jaskier can’t turn his head with the force, Lambert’s thumb in his mouth and the rest of his fingers curled around Jaskier’s jaw immobilizing his head. It intensifies the sting and makes Jaskier convulse and sob where he’s drooling around Lambert’s thumb. The next slap is unexpected and harder; Jaskier whines, tears gathering in the corners of his eyes, and rocks his hips frantically back onto his own fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert tilts his head to look down past his arm, smirking. “Look at that,” he says, just barely too soft to be a sneer, “You’re so hard, little one.” He finally pulls his hand away from Jaskier’s mouth. “Ask me to hit you again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier gasps, leaning forward as much as he can without overbalancing. “Slap me again, Lambert, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” Lambert hums, and then two hits come in quick succession, one to each cheek. Jaskier makes an odd, high-pitched sound and the tears spill over. “Alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier hisses. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Again</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert smirks. “Greedy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier quickly loses count of how many times Lambert slaps him, which cheek is being hit; he collapses into a haze, face smarting and tears streaking the reddened, abraded skin. He’s still working his fingers inside himself, small, jerky movements that keep knocking breathy sounds from his throat around the whimpers and moans each time Lambert strikes him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he’s brought somewhat back to himself by Lambert cupping his jaw, thumbs stroking lightly over the redness on his cheeks. His eyes flutter open, vision blurry with tears, just in time to find himself being kissed. He responds dumbly, slowly, but Lambert doesn’t seem to mind. As they’re kissing, one of Lambert’s hands slides down to cup his throat, and Jaskier feels the way his heart rabbits at the simple touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Anticipation thrums through him as Lambert pulls back. He sucks in a deep breath, eyes locked on Lambert’s, and feels the way the Witcher starts to squeeze. Slow, steady pressure at the sides of his throat, just below his jaw, as Lambert watches him intensely; Jaskier’s eyes start to flutter and roll as the sensation starts to take him, air constricting, until he can hardly breathe and his head is going just a little fuzzy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The release comes as a shock, air rushing into his lungs and heart rate tripling before slowing back down to a more normal, though aroused, pace. He sways forward with a whimper and Lambert catches him, murmuring soothing nonsense until Jaskier comes back enough to nuzzle against his shirt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More,” Jaskier rasps. “Please, Lambert, want more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert laughs. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Greedy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he repeats. “Are you open, little one? Think you can take me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, a little frantic, his sensitive cheek scraping over the rough hair on Lambert’s chest. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Turn around and show me, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment – and some help – but Jaskier manages to sit back on his knees and then scramble to turn around, until he’s on his elbows and knees facing away from Lambert. The first touch, just Lambert’s hands cupping his ass cheeks, makes him startle; Lambert laughs, and Jaskier dips his head and tries to relax into the massaging pressure. One of Lambert’s thumbs swipes over his hole, making Jaskier gasp and clench around nothing. He just laughs when Jaskier whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your face is pretty all red, little one,” Lambert says, almost conversationally. “Bet your ass would be prettier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier jolts at the suggestion, whimpering and pressing his ass back into Lambert’s hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like that idea, do you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All Jaskier does is whine and push his hips back again. It gets him a light swat, nothing more than a lovetap, and Lambert laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Use your words, little one,” he orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please </span>
  </em>
  <span>spank me, Lambert,” Jaskier pants out, dropping his shoulders to the bed so he can raise his ass higher. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert gives a considering hum. “I don’t know,” he says. “I’m not sure you deserve it.” He delivers another little lovetap, still not enough to hurt, just barely enough to feel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whines. “Want – want it so badly, Lambert, want you to spank me red, please, please – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another hum and Lambert digs his fingers into Jaskier’s ass, spreading him apart almost to the point of pain. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “My hands are important, you see. Need them in tip-top shape. Might not be worth it to risk hurting them to tan your hide.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That’s bullshit and Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> it is, but even so, desperation hits him like a kick to the throat and he whimpers, squirming around on his knees. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lambert, I’ll be good – I promise, I’ll be so good, just want – want you to hit me, want to feel it when I sit for the rest of the week, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh?” Lambert asks, sounding teasingly unsure, and Jaskier whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, want – want to feel – want you to hurt me, please,</span>
  <em>
    <span> please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lambert, I’ll be good, want you to bruise me, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mark </span>
  </em>
  <span>me – want – </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span> – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hush, little one,” Lambert shushes him with a rough squeeze to his ass and Jaskier trails off into a soft moan. “I’ll give you what you want.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whimpers. Lambert laughs and his hands disappear from Jaskier’s backside just to come back, both at once, with a hard slap to each cheek. It jolts Jaskier forward and he grunts, taken aback for a split second by the flare of pain before it settles into a bearable, </span>
  <em>
    <span>arousing</span>
  </em>
  <span> sting. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert hums. “Are you going to thank me each time, little one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier rubs his face into the bed to cope with the searing heat in his gut and the way his cock throbs painfully. “I-if you’d like,” he forces out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…no,” Lambert says after a moment of pause. He sounds as if he’s still conflicted. “I think I’d rather hear you cry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gasps, just to have the air knocked straight back out of him with the next hit; the next </span>
  <em>
    <span>several</span>
  </em>
  <span> come in quick succession, barely giving him the chance to catch his breath or control his writhing and moans. Judging by Lambert’s quiet, pleased grunt, that was the plan. With some effort, Jaskier lets go of all of his control except what it takes to keep himself upright on his knees.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Each slap jars him, knocks a weak, wanting sound from his mouth; he can feel the way his ass is reddening, heating, feel the raised welts Lambert is leaving with his hand and it just makes him moan even more wantonly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“La – Lambert, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lambert</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he pants, broken up and breathy. Lambert laughs but doesn’t let up, until Jaskier is starting to flinch away from the slaps. Not at his limit, not yet, but edging close.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Feel good, little one?” Lambert asks, finally bringing his hands down softly to rub at the welts and stinging, abraded skin. Jaskier lets out a high whine, body shuddering as he tries to decide between pushing back into the touch or pulling away. Lambert’s fingers hook around his hips, making the decision for him. “Hold still now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier licks his lips with a too-dry tongue and nods, then mumbles, “I will,” in case Lambert can’t see his head move where he’s buried it into the sheets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy.” Lambert’s hands leave him and Jaskier feels him patting around on the bed for a moment. He only realizes what Lambert is doing when the touch comes back, this time slick fingers dragging teasingly over his hole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whimpers. “Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lambert, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get what you need,” Lambert chuckles. “Behave yourself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two fingers sink into him without trouble. Jaskier feels his stomach bottom out and lets out a sound halfway between a moan and a sob, cock bobbing against his stomach and drooling precome all over the bed. Lambert hisses when he clenches down around those fingers, then moves, fucking them in and out until Jaskier is half-mindless with it, whimpering and sobbing and rocking back into Lambert’s hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at you,” Lambert says, and Jaskier thinks it was meant to have an edge of tease, to be almost an insult, but Lambert just sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>awed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, “taking me so easily already, little one. You really are greedy for it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ye – yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier pants, eyes rolling when Lambert’s fingers glance off his prostate. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> want it, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get it,” Lambert promises, and his voice is so low and dark that it’s almost more of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>threat</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Jaskier’s cock just twitches and smears precome over his belly at the sound of it. “Just have to make sure you’re ready, little one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines but doesn’t protest, just lifts his hips up in offering. The next few minutes pass in a haze of searing desire as Lambert fingers him, using probably too much oil to slick the way. By the time Lambert deems him ready, he’s shivering and whining continuously, barely holding himself up on his legs. Lambert’s fingers trail over the welts on his ass lightly, still oil-slick, and Jaskier nearly chokes on his own tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a moment’s pause where Lambert’s touch disappears and he doesn’t say or do anything that Jaskier can hear, and then he’s shoving his way onto the bed, manhandling Jaskier’s mostly-limp form along with him. By the time the movement stops and Jaskier’s world reorients, he finds himself still on his knees but knelt up, now, leaning back against Lambert’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he mumbles. He doesn’t really mean to turn his head and mouth at Lambert’s throat, but that’s what happens, and he feels the way Lambert’s laugh rumbles through his chest. “Oh.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did I break you, little one?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hums. “No,” he manages to slur. He feels the way Lambert’s cock twitches against his lower back and rocks back against it, grinning stupidly when Lambert hisses and bites at his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s manhandled again, shoved a little forward so that Lambert can line up; like earlier with the spanking, Jaskier finds his lungs suddenly devoid of air as the Witcher pushes in, </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so slowly Jaskier swears he can feel each centimeter of cock as it sinks inside of him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he groans, almost more a grunt. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lambert.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert doesn’t speak until he’s sunk in to the hilt, tugging Jaskier back to his chest and forcing his legs wider around the spread of his own thighs. “Feel good, little one? Feel full?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so full, fuck, Lambert,” Jaskier squirms, delighting in the moan it knocks out of Lambert’s chest before the Witcher wraps a staying arm around his chest, hand resting over Jaskier’s heart. The other hand comes up to grasp at Jaskier’s neck, sending a near-violent shudder down his spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Put your hand on my arm,” Lambert orders. It takes a few moments of fumbling but Jaskier manages to reach up and grasp Lambert’s arm, probably too tight, but he knows if he tries to loosen his grip he’ll lose it entirely. “Good boy. Want you to tug on my arm if you need me to stop, little one. I promise I won’t hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, mostly just rubbing his face across Lambert’s neck. He tugs at Lambert’s arm to show he understands, and Lambert makes a soft, approving noise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, just like that. Good boy.” Lambert shifts just slightly on his knees, </span>
  <em>
    <span>bracing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Jaskier groans at the first thrust, the sound breaking up into little panting whines with the next several, until he’s just breathless and shivering. “Deep breath, little one,” Lambert purrs into his ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tries, he really does, but the way Lambert doesn’t stop fucking him makes it hard. Lambert starts to squeeze his throat anyway, constricting the small amount of air he can get until it’s nearly nothing and he’s going dizzy. The room spins and his cock throbs and then Lambert lets </span>
  <em>
    <span>go</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Air rushes into his lungs and he convulses, orgasm overtaking him like a riptide. Lambert groans headily into his shoulder, holding tight to Jaskier’s hips as he keeps moving, fucking him through the orgasm and into a near immediate second one. Jaskier keens, only restricted from thrashing wildly because of Lambert’s hold on him, the way the Witcher sinks sharp teeth into his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s wailing slowly starts to coalesce into words, just pleading and Lambert’s name interspersed like a prayer. Lambert growls and fucks him harder, hand coming back up to his throat in threat and promise. Jaskier leans a little into it, hoping, wanting but unable to voice it past his wild, near-incoherent praise of Lambert’s cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One more time,” Lambert whispers into his ear. “Want to make you come on my cock one more time, little one, then I’ll fill you up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Puh – puh…puh-lease</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier grunts, each thrust of Lambert’s cock breaking his words around little groans. “Wa – want i-it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know you do.” Lambert’s grip around his throat tightens just a bit, still mostly just threat, and somehow manages to fuck </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “Greedy, eager little slut. So </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect.</span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines, but it’s cut off by Lambert really squeezing again, still slow and steady and careful but thrilling nonetheless. This time when he releases, Jaskier just jolts and whimpers for more; Lambert does it three more times, still fucking steadily into him, before the rush of air knocks Jaskier over the edge again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s certain he’s screaming now, but he can barely hear himself over the growl Lambert lets out as he shoves him to the bed, face smashed into the sheets, and starts to fuck like a wild animal. Tears are leaking out of Jaskier’s eyes, even shut tightly, and he can’t stop moaning, soft and shivery. He’s mostly come down from the clouds by the time Lambert comes, pressing deep and snarling. Jaskier clenches tight around him, whimpering at the feeling of him throbbing, whimpering again when Lambert </span>
  <em>
    <span>whines</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Melitele’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>tits</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jaskier,” Lambert groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier makes a soft, garbled noise in response, head still spinning. He can feel bruises forming on his throat, on his ass, and just the thought makes him wriggle happily. Lambert lays a small, gentle slap to his ass and then pulls out, chuckling when Jaskier makes a mournful noise. Blood rushes to his face as he feels himself start to leak, warmth dripping from his hole to trail along his balls, his thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He squeaks when Lambert touches him again, just fingertips catching the drops of cum and oil. He realizes what’s going to happen a split second before it does, Lambert’s wet fingers sinking back into him, making his thighs tremble with overstimulation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lambert</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whines.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not hearing a safeword,” Lambert says, almost mocking, and Jaskier shudders, clenching down on the width of Lambert’s knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not – just – </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Jaskier can’t organize his thoughts, everything too scattered from the pain still singing through his blood on the bright edge of pleasure, from three orgasms in entirely too little time. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lambert</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert laughs and slowly, gently pulls his fingers out. Jaskier hears him wipe them off, and then he’s being manhandled again, pulled over to his side where Lambert curls up behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fit together well. Jaskier sighs happily and snuggles further back, letting himself settle into the haze still over his mind. Lambert will take care of him, he knows. They all will.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He falls asleep to Lambert murmuring sweet, soft praise into his hair.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Geralt spends a week seemingly just…</span>
  <em>
    <span>studying</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jaskier.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier notices the way his attention goes sharper, more focused, whenever Jaskier follows an order he’s given; from something as simple as Lambert telling him to move out of the way to Vesemir putting him on his knees in the common areas, Geralt watches. And Jaskier is sure it’s obvious to the others, too, considering how intense Geralt’s focus can get.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It gets under Jaskier’s skin. He’s been regularly fooling around with Eskel and Lambert, on top of his usual dalliance with Vesemir; so far, though, nothing has happened with Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He desperately </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span> something to happen with Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, he thinks he can’t be blamed for his desires. Firstly, he’s been spoiled – months traveling with Vesemir, and now cooped up in a castle with him, he’s gotten nearly everything he wants almost without question. Add in the fact that he gets even </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span> from Eskel and Lambert, and, well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, Geralt is…a lot, to say the least.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier has gathered some bits of information about him, though none from Geralt himself – the most stoic of the bunch, though Jaskier’s been led to believe that’s only when </span>
  <em>
    <span>he’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> around. New face and all that, but that’s beside the point. He’s learned some things, like that Geralt and Eskel grew up together, that Geralt suffered additional Trials to become a Witcher. That second one is most important, because it’s why he has his white hair, why he’s just that little bit faster and stronger than Eskel and Lambert. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>those</span>
  </em>
  <span> – those are the things Jaskier has been noticing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he’s got a thing for older men who can throw him around.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like that’s a secret or anything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It comes to a head one night after dinner. Lambert and Eskel have been toying with Jaskier all day, swatting his ass as they walk past or tugging playfully on his hair. He’s sure the gods themselves can see how keyed up he is, and that means the four Witchers he spends all of his time with definitely can. Lambert and Eskel are rather smug about it. Vesemir is amused, too, though in a less arrogant way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Geralt is still studying him intensely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they would usually move to sit in front of the hearth after dinner, Geralt hangs back and grabs Jaskier by the waist. Jaskier gasps but lets himself be pulled back, watching the way Lambert rolls his eyes and Vesemir shakes his head fondly. Eskel stops for a moment and quirks a brow, but Jaskier just shakes his head and relaxes back against the bulk of Geralt’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then they’re alone. Geralt’s arm is warm and tight around his waist, and Jaskier can feel the strength resting just under the surface of everywhere they touch. It makes him shiver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shivers more when Geralt ducks down and noses against his neck, very clearly scenting him. “You’re good at following orders,” he says, and his voice is nearly as deep as Eskel’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I try,” Jaskier replies, trying his best not to sound incredibly needy. From the way Geralt chuckles lightly against his neck, he doesn’t succeed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think I’d like to see how well you follow directions a bit more personally,” Geralt rumbles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier bites his lip against a whine. “I’d be okay with that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another small chuckle. “Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, very suddenly, Jaskier is </span>
  <em>
    <span>moving</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He finds himself in the air, and then slung over Geralt’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes; he yelps, almost belated, and Geralt chuckles again. Jaskier huffs and whacks the Witcher’s back lightly, but he can’t stop himself from grinning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt carries him easily up to his bedroom, Jaskier a little dizzy from the blood rushing to his head the whole way there. He stumbles when he’s set back on his feet, but Geralt catches him easily and steadies him with nothing more than a small smile. Once Jaskier is stable, though, the smile disappears. In its place is a stern look, not exactly cold but not warm, either, and it sends a little jolt down Jaskier’s spine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s similar, in a way, to Vesemir’s face when Jaskier is misbehaving, but…different, too, more…unforgiving? He’s not really sure how to qualify it, but it’s also not at the forefront of his mind. Especially not when Geralt speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Strip,” he orders. “Slowly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier swallows the strange whimper that tries to climb up his throat and nods, then sets to doing exactly as he’s told.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s dressed simply, today, and not even in his own clothes. He’s wearing a pair of Lambert’s breeches, slightly too big but good enough, and Vesemir’s tunic, with a sort of overshirt on top that Jaskier thinks is actually Geralt’s, or was, several winters ago. It all hangs oddly on him, too big in the knees or the shoulders and chest, but it’s comfortable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The overshirt goes first, unbuttoned as slowly as he can manage – which is decently slow, considering his suddenly trembling fingers. Once it’s off, he hesitates for a moment, unsure if he’s meant to just drop it to the floor or something else.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt grins, sharp and almost predatory. “Fold everything neatly,” he says, and Jaskier bites back another whimper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he folds the overshirt as nicely as he can, then bends to set it on the floor at his feet. The tunic is next, big enough he can just pull it over his head, though he’s careful to move slowly, each motion carefully planned, even if he’s still trembling a little. It’s a bit harder to fold the tunic but he manages it, and once it’s set on top of the overshirt, moves to his pants. He has to do a dumb little hopto get them down off his feet, and he flushes at the way he can feel Geralt’s eyes on him like a physical touch. They’re folded, too, and then he’s just in his smallclothes, draped loosely over his very obvious erection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Those too, pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier can’t manage to bite back the little sound </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> knocks out of him. He loves the nicknames – how each of them have a different one for him – but he hadn’t really expected </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span> to give him one, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt quirks a brow. “Is that alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier doesn’t trust himself not to say something truly embarrassing, so he just nods frantically and sets to ridding himself of his smallclothes as well. Once they’re folded and set, he stands back up, fighting the urge to cover himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt looks him over, appraising, and Jaskier feels goosebumps erupt along his arms and legs. He tamps down on his urge to ramble, his urge to </span>
  <em>
    <span>squirm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and settles for shifting his weight a little to alleviate the nervous energy. Finally, Geralt hums and jerks his head toward the bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“On the bed, pet,” he orders. “On your back, knees up and arms above your head.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shudders a little at the sheer command in the Witcher’s voice, but does as he’s told, scrambling up onto the bed and into position. It leaves him incredibly exposed, no way to cover himself unless he moves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he hasn’t been told to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Geralt said he’d wanted to see how well Jaskier can take orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he stays as still as he can, trying to ignore the odd, squirmy feeling in his gut, the little voice whispering that he can’t read Geralt as well as the others. It doesn’t matter. None of them would hurt him, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He knows that, even if the ability to parse Geralt’s thoughts from his body language or expressions isn’t there. And it’s not like that isn’t equally as </span>
  <em>
    <span>thrilling</span>
  </em>
  <span> as it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>worrying</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He startles a little when the bed shifts. Geralt huffs, something that’s almost a laugh, and continues climbing onto the bed until he’s settled between Jaskier’s spread knees. Somewhere between Jaskier getting on the bed and now, he’s lost his shirt, but he’s still wearing those frankly </span>
  <em>
    <span>rude</span>
  </em>
  <span> leather pants. Jaskier swallows the sudden rush of saliva at the thought of what Geralt is hiding under those breeches and tries to pay attention to the Witcher’s face instead.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt is just looking at him again, eyes tracing over his body with what Jaskier really hopes is interest. Judging by his wide pupils, it is, but Jaskier really does have a hard time reading Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Geralt’s eyes move back up and meet Jaskier’s. He’s got that sharp, wicked grin from before on his face and Jaskier tries and fails to swallow back a whimper at the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re not allowed to come until I say so, pet,” Geralt says, a sort of gentle tone to his voice that’s completely betrayed by that grin. “You will tell me when you’re close. Is that understood?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier makes a choked, broken sound and nods. Geralt quirks a brow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier manages to gasp. “Yes, I understand.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” Geralt puts a hand, almost comically large, on Jaskier’s thigh and pushes him a little more open. Jaskier whines at the stretch but keeps his leg where it’s moved. Geralt’s grin softens for a split second. “Very good, pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Geralt just pets over his skin, from his thighs to his belly, always avoiding his cock. Jaskier starts to pant, cock throbbing and bobbing wildly over his stomach with each </span>
  <em>
    <span>not quite there </span>
  </em>
  <span>touch. The grin never quite leaves Geralt’s face, but he doesn’t look back up at Jaskier. After a moment, Jaskier can no longer take the sight of those wide, rough hands on his skin and tips his head back, trying to wrestle back control of his breathing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, that goes straight out the window when Geralt suddenly wraps a hand around his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier almost shouts it, he’s so taken off guard by the tight grip.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt chuckles. Jaskier whines. A single soft, dry stroke turns the sound into something significantly higher pitched and breathier. Geralt chuckles again, and then the touch is gone. When Jaskier groans, bereft, and looks up to find out </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he finds Geralt pouring oil over his palm and promptly chokes on his own tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Remember,” Geralt says lightly. “No coming unless I say.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Jaskier pants. “I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next touch to his cock is warm and slick and Jaskier whimpers, hips jolting upward. Geralt huffs again but grips him tightly, just on the right side of too much, and starts to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s stupidly good for nothing but a few seconds of a handjob and Jaskier is rather embarrassed at the noises he’s making already, but it’s not like he’s got a lot of control. None, in fact, with his legs spread almost too wide and arms up above his head. A thrill spreads through him and he groans, head thrashing a little to try and cope with the pleasure soaking into his bones.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he hisses when the Witcher’s thumb swipes slick over the head of him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. More. Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get what I give you,” Geralt says firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier chokes a little on the whimper that spills out of him, twitching at the way Geralt keeps up with that little thumb swipe, and nods. “Yes,” he agrees. “Thank you, Geralt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good pet,” Geralt says, and Jaskier could swear he’s smiling, but when he pries his eyes open to look there’s no smile to be found. “Very good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first orgasm rises quicker than Jaskier would like, and he’s almost tempted to keep his mouth shut, but no.  He wants to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to follow orders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m – ” he stops for a moment to whimper breathlessly, “ – </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, close.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt hums and grips at the base of his cock. Jaskier bucks and cries out desperately, but Geralt doesn’t let go or even react aside from moving along with him. It feels like a small eternity while Jaskier’s body winds down, pulse settling into something slightly more normal, muscles no longer twitching erratically every few seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re being wonderful, pet,” Geralt praises, and Jaskier groans at the way it makes his cock throb in that tight grip. “Again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He starts to stroke. Jaskier’s eyes roll and he whimpers, fighting the urge to writhe. As it is, his legs tense oddly, calves coming to rest around Geralt’s hips. The Witcher doesn’t react other than to shift a little closer, letting Jaskier almost plant his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This one comes on a little slower, probably because Jaskier is so focused on not squirming. All the same, it nearly takes him by surprise, and he barely manages to warn Geralt this time. Luckily, the Witcher can move fast; his grip tightens at what feels like the exact last second, and Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>wails</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt chuckles. Jaskier makes a soft, offended noise, and twists. He can’t go far, with Geralt’s hand around his cock and his arms up above his head, but he has to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the banked energy thrumming under his skin. Geralt doesn’t stop him, doesn’t reprimand, just moves with him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a mirror of the way it creeped up, this one takes a little longer to recede; an eternity and a half while Jaskier pants and tries to force his body to calm quicker. He’s not terribly successful. While they’re waiting, Geralt starts to pet over Jaskier’s thigh and belly with his other hand, which is both helpful in calming him and terribly </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> helpful, all at once. Jaskier huffs and strains his head backwards, flexing his muscles tense before forcing himself to relax down. That seems to finally settle him, and Geralt hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.” It’s just a single word, hardly the most praise he’s ever gotten, but even still it sends a thrill straight through Jaskier, makes him gasp. And then, in a tone that absolutely implies a smirk even if Geralt’s face is still straight, “Again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again and again and </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Geralt pushes Jaskier to the edge and then stops. Jaskier’s brain starts to spiral away, his entire body becoming oversensitive, each new touch some sort of revelation. He’s barely getting words out now, to warn Geralt, more just frantic whimpers, interspersed with Geralt’s name and curses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt, though, seems to have found his words in the absence of Jaskier’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pet, you’re being so good for me,” he murmurs. “You look so desperate, pet. Red all over, and you’re </span>
  <em>
    <span>drooling</span>
  </em>
  <span>. You want this so much, don’t you? So eager, greedy for anything I can give you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier manages to gasp with great difficulty, hips jerking erratically and completely unable to control his movements at this point. The only shred of control he clings to is keeping his arms above his head, and he’s clinging to it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>, just wanting to be good. After a handful more denials, he realizes he’s fallen into near-incoherent begging.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Geralt, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, want – want to – </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please, please, I’ll be good, I swear – I want to – </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, oh fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You do sound very nice when you beg, pet,” Geralt purrs. Jaskier whimpers, then whimpers again, louder and more desperate, when Geralt’s touch disappears entirely. “Patience, pet, I’ll give you what you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier groans and thrashes for a moment before he’s able to calm, to relax at least somewhat. Geralt chuckles, and there’s a slick sound Jaskier is much too strung out to pick up his head and find the source of.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He finds out what it was quickly enough, anyway, when Geralt pets a slick finger over his hole. His whole body convulses, the touch practically burning in his sensitivity, and he whines, low and long. Geralt chuckles again and keeps rubbing at him, just a tease for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You really are being very good, Jaskier, being such a wonderful pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers around a convulsive swallow and manages to croak out, “Th-thank you,” with some difficulty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt hums soothingly and continues to pet over his hole, until Jaskier properly calms down. He’s still twitching with each soft touch, but not as violently, and he’s able to catch his breath for the first time in…probably too long. Only when he’s breathing steadily again does Geralt do anything more; there’s another slick sound, and then Geralt is carefully pushing inside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, fuck,” Jaskier breathes, almost stunned. He doesn’t know how this continues to feel so incredible every time, considering how </span>
  <em>
    <span>often</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s fucked, but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He bucks his hips up, wanting more, and Geralt tuts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Patience</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pet,” he repeats sternly. “We go at my pace or you get nothing at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The threat in those words makes Jaskier’s stomach twist, part fear and mostly desperation. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles. “I’ll be good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt chuckles and fondles Jaskier’s balls, making him grunt softly. “I know you will, pet. You want it so badly, of course you’ll be good for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want it,” Jaskier repeats, still half-mindless. “Want you so badly, Geralt, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a soft sound, something Jaskier can’t really parse the meaning of, and then a second slick finger is pressing against him. He sucks in a breath as it sinks in, precome smearing across his belly when his cock twitches. He’s calmed somewhat now but still feels very much like he’s on a hair trigger, liable to burst at any second.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s easy to lose track of time again, to lose track of everything that isn’t where he and Geralt are touching, where Geralt’s thick fingers spear him open. Slowly, slowly, the pleasure starts to build up again, until Jaskier is whining and whimpering and squirming, belly clenching with every incidental glance off his prostate. Geralt makes soft, soothing noises, but doesn’t stop or speed up, just continues fucking Jaskier open bit by bit with two fingers and then, eventually, three.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blames the haze he’s descended into for what happens next. He’s nearly properly under, pleasure-soaked and fuzzy around the edges, so his awareness of his body in realistic terms is not that great.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The orgasm sneaks up on him, quick enough he has no chance to warn Geralt, to do anything more than let it take him. He keens when it washes over him like a wave, legs shaking and belly tensing rhythmically. There’s a tinge of guilt edging it, Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> he’s been bad, that Geralt will be upset, but the pleasure is too great after too many denials, like a white-out blizzard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he finally comes down some time later, he finds himself being flipped onto his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” he shouts, scrambling to arrange his limbs; he doesn’t really get the chance before Geralt spanks him, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad pet,” Geralt snarls, low and dangerous. A shudder shakes Jaskier’s whole frame. “I told you not to come without permission.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines, cutting off in a wild yelp when another hit lands on the opposite cheek from before. “I – </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh – </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m sorry,” he pants. Geralt’s hits keep coming, each one hard and stinging, tears gathering in Jaskier’s eyes quickly and falling soon after. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure what changes, but between one rapid hit and the next his stomach drops and he’s sobbing and – “Leh – Let – </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lettenhove</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt stops immediately. “Jaskier,” he says, and there’s no hardness in his voice anymore. It’s warm, and soft, and Jaskier sobs again. “Jaskier, talk to me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just – ” Jaskier hiccups, realizes he doesn’t know how to phrase what’s wrong because he doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>know what’s wrong</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Too much</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” It’s the best approximation he can come up with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Geralt says, voice still soft. “Can I touch you, pet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “Yes,” he answers. “Just – softly, please.” His stomach is still turning, feeling a bit like something is trying to crawl up his throat from his gut.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, pet.” Geralt’s hands land on his shoulders, the touch light but not light enough to tickle. He runs them down each side of Jaskier’s spine and then back up, cupping around his shoulders this time. “May I move you, pet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” Jaskier swallows heavily and tastes saltwater on his tongue. With gentle, easy movements, Geralt gets him flipped onto his back once more. As he settles, eyes shut because he’s irrationally afraid that Geralt will be glaring at him, Geralt pushes his hands up Jaskier’s arms, soft and coaxing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can put these down, pet,” he murmurs quietly. “You’ve been so good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shakes his head. “I was bad,” he corrects. “Came without permission.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt hums. “You did,” he agrees. “But you were so good before, and you’re being so good now, using your word and letting me know what you’re okay with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Something tense in Jaskier’s chest releases. He lets out a breath, and slowly pries his eyes open. Geralt is looking down at him from where he’s knelt to his side, expression open and concerned. Jaskier sighs again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “I – I don’t know what happened.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s alright. May I?” Geralt’s hands hover over his chest. Jaskier nods and closes his eyes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a long moment, Geralt just pets over his skin, heedless of the mess he’s made. It’s soothing, with the heat of the Witcher’s hands and the contrast of rough-soft from his callouses. Jaskier basks in the simple touch, humming and arching into the contact as he starts to settle from whatever place he’d gone to when everything was suddenly not fun anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I want to hold you,” Geralt murmurs, after an indeterminate stretch of time. Jaskier blinks his eyes back open in time to feel and see Geralt shift, so he’s laying on his side, propped up on one elbow. There’s several inches of space between their bodies. “May I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods and scoots closer. Geralt shoves one arm under his shoulders and drapes the other around his waist, pulling him into a tight embrace. He finds his face buried in Geralt’s chest, and it’s a stunningly comfortable place to be, so he relaxes and – well, sort of clings. Geralt doesn’t object.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I really am sorry,” Jaskier murmurs after a moment of comfortable silence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Geralt replies. “You did nothing wrong, but it’s forgiven anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier smiles against Geralt’s chest. “Wouldn’t have guessed you have such a soft side,” he teases softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt snorts. “I’m surprised Eskel didn’t tell you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Jaskier nuzzles into Geralt’s chest, shifting so he can press his face into the Witcher’s throat. Geralt lets him, adjusting alongside to keep holding him close as he moves. “Want to make it up to you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No need,” Geralt says, and Jaskier doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>doubt </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, but he can also feel where Geralt is still half-hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Want </span>
  </em>
  <span>to,” Jaskier repeats. “Please? It’ll make me feel better.” It’s not a lie; Jaskier really does get off on being </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He likes making his partners feel good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt makes a considering noise, then threads a hand through Jaskier’s hair to pull him back gently. Jaskier goes until he can see Geralt’s face, their noses almost brushing. Geralt searches his eyes for a while, seemingly assuring himself that Jaskier is telling the truth, but finally he nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, pet,” he murmurs. “If you’d like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods, sliding one hand down Geralt’s chest to his belly and playing with the trail of hair there. “Kiss me?” he asks, a little timid. Geralt smirks and ducks closer, pressing their mouths together without preamble. It’s chaste for about three seconds, and then Jaskier opens his mouth and Geralt is practically ravaging him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier gasps in a break, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Geralt.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s fumbling, fingers unsteady as Geralt kisses him again, but he manages to get his palm wrapped around Geralt’s cock, already on its way back to being fully hard. He strokes firmly, then a little softer, experimenting with what makes Geralt jerk and moan. He seems to like it with a tight grip but moving slow; Jaskier copies the little thumb swipe Geralt used on him earlier, and Geralt breaks their kiss to groan, long and low and rumbling. Jaskier shivers and does it again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time seems to stretch and pull, going meaningless with each low, hitched sound Jaskier manages to pull from Geralt’s chest, each searing kiss that’s pressed to his lips. His hand is slick now with precome, and just the thought makes his cock twitch in renewed interest, but he ignores that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, Jaskier,” Geralt hisses, moving his mouth from Jaskier’s to his throat. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines when Geralt sets to giving him a hickey, right under his jaw. “Geralt,” he mumbles. “Mm, want to feel you come.” He speeds up just a little, tightens his grip the tiniest bit, and Geralt makes a high, broken sound against his skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take much longer. Jaskier can feel the muscles in Geralt’s stomach jumping with each upward stroke, feel the way he’s gritting his teeth with each swipe of Jaskier’s thumb over the soaked head of him. His grip on Jaskier has gone bruising, but Jaskier doesn’t mind that at all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Geralt finally comes, he groans out, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pet</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” and Jaskier thinks for a split second he might come, too, just from that. He doesn’t – thank the gods, that would be embarrassing – and carefully strokes Geralt through his orgasm, cooing soft nonsense at him until he stops twitching and bats weakly at Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier just wipes the mess on his own hip and shifts forward to bury his face into Geralt’s throat again. The Witcher is panting lightly still, a rumbling growl building in his chest, and Jaskier grins.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good?” he asks, cheeky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt swats his sticky hip lightly. “Don’t get cocky.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me? Never.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Likely story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They fall asleep like that.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Winter is nearly over when Jaskier finally gets up the courage to ask.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s been thinking about this for – weeks. A month now, maybe? He’s not exactly sure, but a long while all the same. He thinks Vesemir knows something is on his mind, and maybe Eskel, but they haven’t pressed him about it. And he’s glad; it takes a while to build up the courage to talk about it, but it also takes a while to figure out the right words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, instead of his carefully laid plan, what he says while they’re all gathered after dinner is, “I want you all to use me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert snorts, Eskel chuckles a bit, and Geralt rolls his eyes. Vesemir, for his part, pets a hand over Jaskier’s waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier rubs a hand across his reddening face. “I – I have a fantasy,” he says. This is closer to his planned speech, thank fuck. He can tell this really gets the attention of his Witchers, as well; Vesemir shifts, pulling Jaskier a little closer, and Lambert, Geralt, and Eskel all perk up, turning slightly more toward him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s, uh,” this </span>
  <em>
    <span>shouldn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>be so hard, and he doesn’t know why he’s blushing so much, considering – well – </span>
  <em>
    <span>literally everything else </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’s done with the four men in this room, “I want to spend a day with all of you just – using me. Whenever and however you’d like. I’ll have my safewords, but aside from that, I can’t – I can’t say no.” He starts to fidget with his hands, but doesn’t look away.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums. “Let’s go to bed, little bird,” he says, and Jaskier’s heart falls, sure this is a rejection, but then he continues. “We’ll talk more about this there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier bites back an excited whine. “Yes, of course.” He takes the hand Vesemir offers to help him stand, and lets himself be pulled away, ignoring the mild grumbling from the others.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They know the hierarchy, here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the beginning of the winter, Jaskier had his own room, but about three weeks in they’d all realized how pointless that was. So now all of his things are in Vesemir’s room, and he spends most nights there, though he occasionally sleeps in Lambert’s, Eskel’s, or Geralt’s rooms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir sits him at the edge of the bed and pulls up a chair to sit in front of him. Jaskier shivers, remembering multiple other times they’ve been in this position, but pushes the (very nice) memories aside.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me why you want this,” Vesemir orders. Jaskier swallows down a broken whimper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like the idea of being…a toy,” Jaskier manages, cheeks flaring red all over again. “Like the thought of being used for pleasure, whether I get any or not.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir hums and nods. “It follows, logically,” he says. “Now tell me exactly what you’re thinking, what you want to happen.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sucks in a breath, trying to ignore the way his cock is twitching to life in his breeches. “Well,” he says, stalling a little bit. Vesemir raises a brow – he knows it, then. Jaskier flushes even further. At this point, he’s sure his whole head is tomato red. “It…started…as a dream,” he forces out, having to look away or risk collapsing into embarrassed incoherence. Vesemir doesn’t mention it. “I was…tied up, in the dining hall, and you all took turns. From there, it just sort of…evolved. I’m not too attached to </span>
  <em>
    <span>what </span>
  </em>
  <span>happens, specifically. Just….”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You just want to be used,” Vesemir finishes for him. “Want to be a cocksleeve for four Witchers for a day.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers at that. “Ye – yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir kicks his ankle lightly and Jaskier looks up. He’s got a stern look on his face, and Jaskier jerks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he corrects, and Vesemir smiles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy,” he says. “Well. I think we can fulfill this little fantasy of yours, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier bites his lip. “Really?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir nods. “Let me do some planning, and talk to them,” he gestures vaguely toward the common area. “And then I’ll let you know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “Yes, Daddy. Thank you, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir smiles again. “Of course, little bird. Now, on your knees.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier goes to the floor easily, </span>
  <em>
    <span>eagerly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, head already swimming with possibilities.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He’s woken with a hand on his cock. A fairly regular occurrence, this winter, so he doesn’t startle; instead, he just moans lowly and stretches, eyes slowly fluttering open to find Vesemir knelt between his legs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher grins and leans forward a little, reaching out to something on the bedside table. When he returns, Jaskier sees he has a plate of dried fruit and cheeses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Breakfast,” Vesemir explains. “Sit up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment but Jaskier manages to get himself into a sitting position. He reaches out for the plate, but Vesemir pulls it away, shaking his head. Jaskier realizes what Vesemir wants to do and whimpers softly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir’s fingers linger on his lips with the first few bites, heated touches and looks that have Jaskier’s cock twitching, but then it moves to more utilitarian hand-feeding. Still </span>
  <em>
    <span>hand-feeding</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though, and Jaskier is certainly very interested in the proceedings.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher only speaks when Jaskier has cleared the plate. “Give me your words, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier jerks and whimpers. “Lettenhove for stop,” he recites. “Ponik for check in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy.” Vesemir reaches out and gives his cock a single stroke, sending heat flaring over Jaskier’s skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Today?” Jaskier asks, hopefully. He’s been carefully keeping a lid on his excitement while Vesemir planned, carefully ignored the calculating, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hungry </span>
  </em>
  <span>looks the others have been giving him for days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, little bird, today,” Vesemir grins, and it’s sharp and wicked and everything Jaskier loves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy,” Jaskier gasps, then gasps again when Vesemir strokes him once more.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, little bird,” Vesemir chuckles. “We’ll see how thankful you are by the time I have you ready, of course.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A mix of trepidation and excitement swirls through Jaskier’s stomach. “Oh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Vesemir nods, then climbs off the bed. “Up, bend over the edge.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines but does as he’s told. As soon as he’s settled and steady, Vesemir grasps his ass cheeks and spreads him open, knocking another whine from his throat. He thumbs lightly over Jaskier’s hole, still a tiny bit open from the night before, when Eskel had sat him on his cock during dinner. Jaskier shivers at the memory.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need to work you open and keep you open,” Vesemir says, and tosses something onto the bed. Jaskier turns his head to look and finds a plug, one he doesn’t recognize; it’s about the same width as the usual larger one he’s used to, but this one is longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier hisses. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir laughs. “Eager as always, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier just cants his hips back in reply, and gets a little swat to his thigh for it. “Behave,” Vesemir orders. “You’ll get what you need.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy.” Jaskier forces himself to settle. There’s the sound of movement from behind him, and then the sound of a bottle being opened. Jaskier shivers but keeps as still as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir starts slowly, just circling Jaskier’s hole with wet fingers before he begins to press in. One finger at first, for a handful of thrusts, and then two; he stays with two a bit longer, scissoring them within Jaskier and making him groan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Jaskier whimpers, fighting the urge to squirm. “Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, more.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Behave,” Vesemir demands. “You’ll be getting plenty </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>, today, so settle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier groans but nods into the bed, panting and whining with each easy thrust of Vesemir’s fingers inside him. By the time a third is added, soft little sounds are continuously pouring from his mouth, along with drool. His cock throbs between his legs, ignored for now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Possibly ignored all day. Jaskier clenches hard around Vesemir’s fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Witcher laughs. “What are you thinking about, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier flushes and squeezes his eyes shut. “Just…. Everything,” he says, which is true, and he can’t come up with the words to describe what he was specifically thinking about, anyway. Vesemir accepts the answer, though, and his fingers disappear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Patience, little bird.” Vesemir grabs the plug, and Jaskier can hear the slick sound as Vesemir wets it with oil. His thighs shake a little. The process of sinking it inside his body is the same torture it always is; Jaskier whines and wiggles his hips, but Vesemir just grabs his waist and puts a stop to that, leaving Jaskier pouting and immobilized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>slowly</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the plug sinks into him, millimeter by millimeter, until it’s at the widest part. Jaskier is panting and sweating, fists clenched white-knuckled in the sheets, stomach twisted in knots of desire. Vesemir leaves it there for a bit, just rocking it the slightest bit in and out, before he pushes again and it finally sinks in to the base, Jaskier clenching erratically around the hard fullness of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whines. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Full</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll be even more full after we come inside you a few times and plug you back up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier moans and his cock throbs dangerously. As if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Vesemir reaches below and squeezes a hand around his base, making Jaskier gasp brokenly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Vesemir says firmly. “You’re not coming until the end of the night. </span>
  <em>
    <span>If </span>
  </em>
  <span>we let you come at all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers. “Daddy – Daddy, I can’t – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, little bird,” Vesemir says, and his voice is soothing now. “I know you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself, eventually. Not going to make you do it on your own. Stand up and turn around.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a handful of minutes for Jaskier to get his arms under himself, another few to get himself standing. Once he’s standing, Vesemir helps, putting steadying hands on his waist and turning him. Every little movement reminds Jaskier of the plug settled deep inside him and he whines breathlessly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he’s finally facing Vesemir, he finds the Witcher smiling wickedly. “You already look so wrecked, little bird,” he murmurs. “And we’re not even halfway through getting you ready. Never mind what we have planned downstairs.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier shudders. “Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Be good, little bird. Stay here.” Vesemir slowly lets go of his waist, clearly waiting to see if Jaskier can stand on his own. Miracle of miracles, he can, though he’s still a bit shaky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir crosses the room to a little dresser, and when he returns, he has a thin length of ribbon in his hands. Jaskier can assume where this is going, and his cock throbs hard enough to bounce against his belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Now,” Vesemir says, voice serious as he stops in front of Jaskier again and holds up the ribbon. “You have to tell us if this gets painful at any point. Do you understand?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “Yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy.” Vesemir drops to his knees with familiar but still shocking grace and sets to tying the ribbon tightly around Jaskier’s cock and balls. Jaskier fidgets a little, thigh muscles jumping, but mostly holds still for the treatment, even though he can now feel his pulse through his cock.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Daddy</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whines. Vesemir grins up at him and places a soft kiss to the head, where he’s already leaking. Jaskier’s hips jerk involuntarily, but Vesemir is already moving, standing back up as gracefully as he went down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not done yet, little bird. Have to get you dressed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier makes a questioning noise, and that wicked grin returns to Vesemir’s face. He steps away and goes back to that dresser again. This time, he’s got a mass of off-white fabric in his hands. Jaskier recognizes it, of course, how could he </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and a pulse of heat settles low in his belly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy,” he says. “The others – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve spoken to them,” Vesemir assures. “They’ll love this little secret of yours exactly as much as I do, little bird, don’t worry about that. Do you think you can dress yourself, or will you need help?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier considers for a moment. “I’ll need help with the stockings,” he says, blushing lightly. “I think I can manage the corset by myself.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir nods. “Stockings first, then.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He goes back to his knees after setting the corset on the bed, and Jaskier uses his shoulder to balance, whining a bit at the plug shifting, as Vesemir rolls the first stocking up his leg. Once it’s secure, they move to the other leg, Vesemir kindly ignoring the way Jaskier’s cock is drooling messily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once he’s steady on his now-stockinged feet, Jaskier turns and grabs the corset. He’s worn it a handful of times since that first night with Vesemir, and he’s old hat at putting it on anyway. It’s easy, at this point, to pull it on and get it situated correctly and then lace it up. Vesemir watches all of this with the same amount of fascination he always does, and Jaskier tries to ignore the additional heat settling in his gut at the sight.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, little bird,” Vesemir praises, once he’s all dressed. “Now, come on. The others will be waiting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier takes the hand he’s offered, knowing he’ll need it. The plug is ever-present, shifting inside him, and he whines for the first few steps before tapering off into panting breaths. He’s shaky and sweating again by the time they reach the dining hall, and it doesn’t get any better when three sets of predator-yellow eyes fix on him immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’re around the table, but Jaskier notices there’s something new in the dining hall; a sort of…bench, he thinks. It’s a bit oddly shaped, and has leather straps hanging from places on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir leads him straight over to it. “Remind me of your words, little bird.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lettenhove for stop, Ponik for check in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy. Now, I’m going to strap you down to this, is that alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier looks over the contraption one more time and swallows. “Yes, Daddy.” His heart is already speeding at the possibilities of how, exactly, Vesemir will be strapping him down to the oddly shaped bench.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir manhandles him into position easily, and Jaskier goes lax to let him. He ends up bent over the bench, his spine straight but angled down, ass pushed into the air with his legs straight. He wriggles a little bit, the bench digging uncomfortably into his stomach, but Vesemir has planned for that; once Jaskier is settled, he makes him lift just a little to place a pillow beneath his stomach. It’s much more comfortable that way, and Jaskier breathes out a, “Thank you, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, little bird.” Vesemir then sets to the straps, two on each leg at ankle and knee, and one on each arm at Jaskier’s wrists. “Comfortable?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier squirms around a bit, and finds he’s really quite stuck. A thrill goes through him and he moans. “Yes, Daddy,” he answers. “Thank you, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Now, you sit there and behave yourself while we have breakfast.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers but nods. “Yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir pets softly over his ass in parting, but that’s all. Jaskier doesn’t bother to keep much track of time or who is where, just letting himself fade into the haze of being tied down and </span>
  <em>
    <span>waiting</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His cock stays hard because of the ribbon and his own nebulously dirty thoughts, but it’s not at the forefront of his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is why when someone touches his ass, he startles a bit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just me, little bird,” Vesemir chuckles. “We agreed that I get to go first.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier chokes a little. “First?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, first,” Vesemir confirms. “We’ll all fuck you once and then plug you back up. After that, we’ll untie you and go about our days, but you’ll be available all day. Won’t you, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whines. “Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, I will. I’ll be good, do whatever you want me to.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good boy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir starts to toy with the plug, and Jaskier pants brokenly with each tug. When he finally starts pulling it out, Jaskier whimpers, soft and needy, and he hears Eskel chuckle. His stomach swoops with the realization that they’re all standing around, intending to watch him get fucked helpless while they wait their turn. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alright, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier chokes out. “Just – just – </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ll get what you want, little bird,” Vesemir says, as he finally pulls the plug all the way out. “What you </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>thank you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir just chuckles and replaces the plug with his cock. Jaskier wails, immediately struggling against his bonds, wanting to writhe and force his hips back for </span>
  <em>
    <span>more</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But he can’t; he’s completely bound, bent over and exposed, so they can do anything they want to him. His cock throbs almost painfully where it’s pressed against the bench and he whimpers. Luckily for him, Vesemir doesn’t bother to go slow; he just starts fucking, hard and fast. Jaskier whines and wails and </span>
  <em>
    <span>takes it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, unable to do anything besides that and drool for it. He can hear the others murmuring, the sound of clothes rustling, but Vesemir’s cock pushing against his prostate has mostly drowned the rest of the world out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” is all Vesemir says before he slams inside one more time and then stills, cock flexing. Jaskier moans, clenching down around him just to hear the broken noise he knows the Witcher will make. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little bird, feel so good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier moans again, coherency abandoned. As Vesemir is riding out the last pulses, though, his mind tunes in to Lambert saying something to his right.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“…think he could guess who it is by cock alone?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He must clench down again, because Vesemir laughs a bit wildly before he starts to pull out. “Think he likes that idea,” he announces. “Is that right, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier works his mouth a bit before he’s able to spit out anything resembling real words. “Ye – yes, Daddy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir laughs again. “Alright then,” he says. “Have fun, boys. Be good, little bird.” And then he’s gone, the sound of his clothes rustling and then the echo of his boots as he walks away. Jaskier whines at being left bereft, but it’s not long before someone else is stepping up behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of them are being very quiet. Of course they are; they want to know if he can guess them by their cocks alone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He wriggles as much as he can, hoping it’s even a little bit enticing, and hears more fabric rustling before there’s cock resting just on top of his hole, the head teasing the loose rim of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier hisses. “Pl-</span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a chuckle, but it’s not identifiable and he can’t pin which direction it’s coming from anyway, and then that cock is pushing in. And in, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jaskier groans, the sound juddering out of him on hitched breaths as he’s filled slowly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then it stops, buried to the hilt, and doesn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>move</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jaskier whines, petulant, but no one speaks and no one moves, either. It hits him a little suddenly, a little </span>
  <em>
    <span>belatedly</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s supposed to guess </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh,” he pants. “I, um….” He clenches down, wriggles as much as he’s able, tries to really feel the body pressed against and inside him. “…Eskel?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Try again, pet,” Geralt growls, and then starts to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier keens, feeling the way the whole bench jolts with each near-violent thrust in. His cock is weeping, making a sticky mess against his stomach and a puddle on the bench and floor below. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s better.” Somehow, Geralt’s thrusts get </span>
  <em>
    <span>harder</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Jaskier wails, hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. His cock throbs violently within its binding but the denial just makes it </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>, intensifies the heat in his blood.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, please!” Jaskier cries, his entire body pulsing along with the punishing rhythm Geralt has set.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always so </span>
  <em>
    <span>needy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pet,” Geralt rumbles, but it only takes a handful more thrusts before he’s coming, pumping Jaskier full. Jaskier whines for it, wriggling and gasping.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s another intense silence as Geralt pulls away and is replaced. This time there’s no tease, just the feeling of something shifting behind him and then he’s being filled again, quick and deep. Jaskier grunts and clenches down, knocking a soft rumble from whoever is behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lambert,” he pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert laughs and slaps his ass. “Good job, little one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At first, he moves slowly, seemingly savoring the way Jaskier clenches and whines each time he shoves against his prostate, but he speeds up quickly, apparently eager to come. Jaskier groans and tries again, fruitlessly, to push his hips back, to participate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert slaps his ass again. “You’re just a toy, little one,” he murmurs, voice entirely too fond for the filth he’s spewing. “Let us use you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lambert,” Jaskier groans, cock throbbing violently again, practically keeping time with his elevated pulse. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lambert</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know,” Lambert laughs. “I’ll give you what you want, little one. So eager.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He keeps his promise. A handful of moments later he stills with a groan, then fucks a little faster and </span>
  <em>
    <span>comes</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jaskier whimpers, but lets himself go mostly lax. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Just a toy</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The thought sends a thrill through him, making his cock jump.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert stays until he’s nearly soft, until he can no longer stay inside, and then steps back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eskel,” Jaskier whines. “Please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel laughs. “Of course, pretty thing. Look at you, all sloppy and still wanting. I’m gonna go slow. Really feel how messy you are.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier pants and wriggles, again, only to have Eskel grab his hips and still him entirely with nothing but a tight grip and a low, warning growl. Eskel thrusts his cock between Jaskier’s cheeks, pushing against and over his slowly-leaking hole but not </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Jaskier whimpers and begs wordlessly, but Eskel is determined to go at his own pace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll use Axii later, pretty thing,” he promises. “See how desperate you can really get like this, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier keens. The sound cuts off with a sudden rush of breath when Eskel shifts his hips and finally pushes </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span>, no resistance at all. It makes a slick </span>
  <em>
    <span>squelch</span>
  </em>
  <span> noise and Jaskier feels his face burn. Eskel just groans and slowly pulls out, then thrusts back in. Slow, </span>
  <em>
    <span>slow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Jaskier is gagging for it, whimpering and whining and drooling everywhere.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So good, pretty thing, look at you,” Eskel praises softly. “Still so tight around me, even after that plug and three cocks. Perfect little fucktoy, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a moment, Jaskier is sure he’s going to come, ribbon be damned. There’s a storm inside him, heat and want and desperation all swirling in his gut, and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure.</span>
  </em>
  <span> But it recedes, almost painfully, and he moans brokenly, yanking at his wrist restraints.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want to come, don’t you, pretty thing?” Eskel asks, taunting, and Jaskier whimpers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Eskel, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel laughs. He’s still moving, agonizingly slow. “Not yet,” he says. “Not yet, pretty thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier moans mournfully and lets himself go lax again, suddenly </span>
  <em>
    <span>exhausted. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He doesn’t know how long Eskel fucks him, how long he rides that edge of </span>
  <em>
    <span>so close </span>
  </em>
  <span>while being denied, but it feels like a long time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He almost doesn’t notice when Eskel finally comes, only the stillness and a small, soft groan to indicate it. Jaskier’s a little sore, and his leg is starting to fall asleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ponik,” he breathes, and suddenly Geralt is by his head, ducking down to look into his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What is it, pet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Need – tired,” he manages to slur. “Leg’s falling asleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt nods. “Let us get your plug back in and then you’ll have a chance to rest, hm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods. “’Kay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, pet. Just a few more minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s two sets of hands on him, suddenly, and Jaskier jolts a little, but doesn’t have the energy to be worked up about it. Lambert and Eskel, he assumes, since Geralt is still crouched by his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So good, little one, did so well for us,” Lambert coos.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes you did, pretty thing,” Eskel adds, and Jaskier hears a slick sound and feels the cold press of the plug. He gasps, but he can’t even tense up, and it slides easily into him until his body closes weakly around the base.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he mumbles. He’s fading quickly; he feels Geralt begin to deal with the straps keeping him bound to the bench, but that’s all before darkness greets him.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>When he wakes, he’s laid out on the couch with his head in Eskel’s lap. The Witcher is petting through his hair and he hums, pressing up into the touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey there, pretty thing,” Eskel greets. “Feeling alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier goes to say </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but finds his throat is too dry to speak. Eskel chuckles at the small, choked noise he makes and leans to the side. When he leans back, he’s got a glass of water in his hand. “Come on, up. Drink.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes a moment, but Jaskier manages to get into a mostly upright position, and Eskel helps him take several long sips of water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Jaskier mumbles, once the glass is nearly empty. Eskel sets it back down and pulls Jaskier back into his lap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, pretty thing.” He pets Jaskier’s hair for another moment. “Are you up for more?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier stretches and takes inventory of himself. He’s a little sore where the plug is still holding him open, but nothing terrible. He’s got a pleasant ache in his thighs and arms, probably from straining against his bonds earlier. He’s gone half-soft, but the ribbon still tight around his cock and balls has kept him somewhat hard, and he knows it wouldn’t take much to get him all the way there again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm. Yes,” he finally answers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel pets through his hair one last time before pushing lightly at his shoulder. “Good. On your knees, pretty thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier hums happily and scrambles off the couch and to his knees, settling in close between Eskel’s thighs. Eskel fumbles with his breeches to bring his cock out, still soft.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get me hard, pretty thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier nods and ducks forward, sucking the soft, spongy head into his mouth. Eskel grunts, and Jaskier feels the first twitch. If his mouth weren’t full, he’d smirk, but it is, so instead he just settles in to do as he’s told, and gets Eskel hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It doesn’t take very long. Soon, Eskel’s hands thread into his hair and take over. Jaskier goes lax in the hold, whimpering softly when the plug shifts inside him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Want to fuck your face, pretty thing,” Eskel hisses. Jaskier just hums around him, lashes fluttering, and puts his arms behind his back. By now they’re all familiar with the signal, and Jaskier is prepared to confirm it, but Eskel seems content as is, and starts to move.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier lets himself be moved, sucking and twisting his tongue when he can but otherwise just letting Eskel push and pull him back and forth along his cock. He doesn’t try to control his gagging or choking, and tears start to streak down his face to join the mess of saliva on his chin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel grunts and pulls him all the way down, groaning at the way Jaskier’s throat convulses. He lets him up quickly, though, petting through his hair gently and murmuring, “Such a good little toy, pretty thing, look at you all messy. I think I’ll add to it. Stay still.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier freezes where he’s put, mouth still open wide and drooling, and Eskel groans.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just like that, pretty thing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sets to stripping his own cock, the movement so close Jaskier can feel the way it displaces air. He whimpers, distorted with his mouth still open, and leans a little forward, eyes wide and begging. Eskel swears colorfully, half-Elder and half something Jaskier doesn’t recognize, and comes. He manages to close his eyes just in time, streaks hitting his forehead, his nose, across his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gods</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you look so good covered in cum,” Eskel pants, reaching out to rub some of it into Jaskier’s skin. Jaskier swallows what’s in his mouth and smiles, eyes fluttering open to take in Eskel’s face and where his cock is slowly softening against his pants.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you,” he says, a little cheeky, and Eskel rolls his eyes, threading a hand through his hair and pulling just a little. Jaskier just moans and follows the pull, which makes Eskel roll his eyes again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Slut</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he says, nothing but affection in his voice. He tilts his head, then, clearly listening to something. “Lambert’s coming,” he says.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hope so.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel shakes his head. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Slut</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he repeats.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jaskier spends the rest of the day in various configurations of being fucked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Lambert arrives to find him covered in Eskel’s cum, he gleefully adds to it, staining down the front of Jaskier’s corset; Geralt finds him next, a handful of minutes later, and does the same, then rubs all of it into Jaskier’s skin until he’s tacky and reeks of sex even worse than before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>During lunch, he sits and warms Vesemir’s cock, leaking all over the Witcher’s pants. Vesemir comes inside him again, once lunch is finished, and rubs all of the leakage into Jaskier’s thighs before plugging him back up. For the most part, the rest of the day is just him sitting on his knees all pretty while the others jerk off onto him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But after dinner, that changes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One more thing, little bird,” Vesemir murmurs against his throat, and Jaskier shivers in anticipation. “I want to see you with all of them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier groans. “All – like – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All at once,” Vesemir confirms. “You’re so </span>
  <em>
    <span>open</span>
  </em>
  <span>, little bird, I think you can fit two of them in your ass, don’t you? And we both know how much you like to have your face fucked.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Daddy, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier gasps, already dizzy from just the </span>
  <em>
    <span>thought</span>
  </em>
  <span>. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course you do, little bird. Go on.” Vesemir gives him a little shove, and Jaskier stumbles toward the common area.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s pretty sure the others know about this plan, because they’re all together on the soft fur rug in front of the hearth, watching him hungrily. He swallows back a weak moan and joins them. Almost immediately, Geralt is on him, biting a series of hickeys up the column of his throat; Lambert takes the other side and Eskel kisses him, so he’s totally surrounded and drowning in their affection.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he moans when the kiss breaks. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel chuckles. “Want to use Axii, pretty thing. What do you think?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier whimpers. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he agrees. “Yes, please, Eskel, want it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Sign washes over him and he groans, letting himself go limp in Geralt and Lambert’s holds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You feel good, don’t you, pretty thing,” Eskel murmurs, and Jaskier whines, high and desperate.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, body humming and buzzing with pleasure. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he whimpers. “So good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, pretty thing, so good. I want you to relax. You don’t have to move at all, pretty thing, we’ll do that for you, alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Al…alright,” Jaskier agrees, and all of the tension floods straight out of him, leaving him boneless and almost giddy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Distantly, he feels the way he’s being moved, but he doesn’t worry about it, because he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>relaxed</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at me, pretty thing,” Eskel murmurs, and Jaskier blinks and finds himself straddling Eskel’s waist, looking down at the Witcher who is holding his lax body up. “Sit up, Jaskier.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier does without thought. He feels the way Eskel’s cock slots into his crack, how it slides against his hole – oh, they took the plug out, he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>leaking</span>
  </em>
  <span> again – and groans. “Eskel.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, pretty thing, I know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Sign fades and Jaskier gasps, knees squeezing around Eskel’s waist. The Witcher laughs, hands settling on Jaskier’s waist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My turn,” Geralt whispers in his ear, and Jaskier barely has the time to gasp before Axii comes over him all over again, this time from Geralt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he slurs, immediately collapsing back into Geralt’s chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’re going to fuck you silly, pet,” Geralt growls, still right into his ear. “And you’re going to love every second of it, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Love…every second,” Jaskier repeats. “Mmm. Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good, pet. So very good for us. Now lean forward, pet, brace yourself on Eskel’s chest.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lean…brace.” Jaskier does as he’s told, no thought in the movements, everything distant and floaty and </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonderful</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He feels a touch at his hole and jolts a little. Geralt hums.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It feels good, doesn’t it, pet?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier gasps as heat flares through his body from that point of contact. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he gasps, because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>so good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he’s desperate for it. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>, more, more, want – ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, pet,” Geralt interrupts. “You’ll get more. Just trust us.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Trust.” Jaskier nods, his neck a little floppy. “Mm. Yes. Trust you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good. Very good, pet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Three fingers sink into him at once, and Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>keens</span>
  </em>
  <span>, arms shaking where he’s braced on Eskel’s chest. The fingers are gone just as quickly as they came, though, replaced with Eskel’s cock, pushing into him with steady pressure. Jaskier’s so loose and fucked-out that it’s no trouble at all to take him to the hilt. He shudders at the thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t Eskel’s cock feel good, pet? It feels so good inside you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier jolts and whimpers at the sudden wash of pleasure. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he hisses. “So…good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel groans underneath him, hips jerking a little, and Jaskier whines. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eskel.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Geralt. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A finger pushes inside him alongside Eskel’s cock and he wails, nails digging furrows into Eskel’s chest. It doesn’t hurt, he’s so </span>
  <em>
    <span>loose</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>intense</span>
  </em>
  <span>, especially with Geralt filling his head with whispers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look so good stretched open like this, pet,” he murmurs. “Such a fantastic toy for us, aren’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fantastic</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier whimpers, and then the rest is lost to a high whine when Geralt adds a second finger, pulling him more open with a gentle tug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Going to feel so good on my cock, pet,” Geralt continues. “You’re so loose, aren’t you? So relaxed. Could just press right in next to Eskel, couldn’t I?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Loose</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier repeats, head spinning with the blankness of Axii and the mind-wiping pleasure spiraling through him. “Relaxed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right, pretty thing,” Eskel says. “Just let him in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Jaskier agrees. “Want – </span>
  <em>
    <span>Geralt</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course, pet.” There’s a hot, blunt pressure at his hole, between Geralt’s two fingers. Jaskier gasps and pushes back, </span>
  <em>
    <span>toward </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, and Geralt chuckles. “Let me in, pet, just like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His stomach bottoms out when Geralt’s fingers slip away and his cock replaces them. It doesn’t take much more than a pointed thrust and he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span>, filling Jaskier so full he’s sure he’ll burst, and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>keeps going</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck, fuck, fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Jaskier pants, squirming and digging more scratches into Eskel’s chest. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s like the fullness and pressure hits a </span>
  <em>
    <span>second </span>
  </em>
  <span>time when the Sign is released and he </span>
  <em>
    <span>screams</span>
  </em>
  <span>, clenching down so tight that it knocks broken sounds out of both Geralt and Eskel.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fuck,” Jaskier keeps repeating it, like he’s forgotten all other words. “Fuck, </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfu – </span>
  </em>
  <span>”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Geralt moves and every single sound Jaskier has ever even </span>
  <em>
    <span>considered </span>
  </em>
  <span>making vacates him entirely. He’s left panting and gasping, squirming between Geralt’s chest and Eskel’s hold on his waist, tears leaking from his eyes, and then there’s a hand in his hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He forces his eyes open to find Lambert standing to the side, cock level with Jaskier’s mouth, and it’s practically second nature to take it into his mouth. Lambert grunts and starts to move immediately, holding Jaskier’s head still, and Jaskier just pants around the thrust of his cock, his mind spiraling away from him as pleasure and aching pressure roll through him like a storm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time loses all meaning. Jaskier could have been in this pile of Witchers for a handful of minutes, it could have been </span>
  <em>
    <span>days</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He doesn’t know or care, perfectly content suspended between the three of them, content to be used and fucked and filled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Vesemir speaks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier’s sounds come back with a choking whimper around Lambert’s cock when Vesemir says, simply, “Do you want to come, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert lets him have his mouth for just long enough to moan, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes,</span>
  </em>
  <span> please, Daddy, want to come,” and then he’s back, fucking into the back of Jaskier’s throat with almost no mercy. Geralt and Eskel are still rocking within him, both of them sounding absolutely wrecked, and Jaskier </span>
  <em>
    <span>wants</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Eskel,” Vesemir says, and the pressure around Jaskier’s cock releases. He recognizes a split second where he knows what’s happening, Geralt and Eskel pressed together tightly within his ass, Lambert’s cock in his throat, Vesemir watching them all, and then he’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>gone</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>White fills his vision and he loses all sense of himself, edges not just blurring but </span>
  <em>
    <span>exploding</span>
  </em>
  <span>, heat and pressure and </span>
  <em>
    <span>pleasure</span>
  </em>
  <span>, pleasure so white-hot he’s certain it will incinerate him. It seems to go on forever, burning and burning and burning, until he suddenly crashes back down into his body.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It takes another handful of seconds to realize that the awful, rapturous keening he’s hearing is him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come back to us, pretty thing,” Eskel whispers, right on top of Geralt’s, “You look so good like this, pet,” and Lambert’s soft, “Such a good boy, little one.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His keening tapers off into a whine. He forces his eyes open to find he’s in a pile of Witchers in front of the hearth, covered in cum and absolutely boneless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Melitele’s sweet fucking tits,” he rasps.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eskel laughs, and Geralt grins, and Lambert smirks. Vesemir snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bath time, pups,” he says. “Little bird, do you want to go with them or stay with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier sucks in a deep breath. “…with you, Daddy. Please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course. Go on, pups, I’ll be able to handle him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lambert grumbles softly, but presses a chaste kiss to Jaskier’s mouth. Eskel and Geralt do the same, and then the three of them are up and headed toward the baths.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Vesemir kneels down at his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Was that everything you wanted, little bird?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jaskier giggles. </span>
  <span>“For now.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. art!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>any and all art for this fic! (nsfw ahead!)</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>all credits and such will be below each picture (assuming there's ever more than one).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p>the dinner table scene, commissioned by kate and done by jacen! they can be found at <a href="https://nbgeralt.tumblr.com/">nbgeralt</a> on tumblr! go throw them some love, they're a gift and a wonder.<br/>
(they also have a <a href="https://ko-fi.com/stcrmpilot">ko-fi</a> and a <a href="https://www.patreon.com/stcrmpilot">patreon,</a> <em>and</em> they do commissions!)</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>yeah, this is absolutely the filthiest thing i've ever written. i'm........not as ashamed as i maybe should be. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯</p><p>so, kate, did you think you were going to get 40k of filthy, witchersexual!jaskier porn for your birthday? because i did that for you. shannon can confirm. (this means you should forgive me for my teasing and the chaos in the discord chat :D)</p><p>yo, if anyone that isn't the intended recipient loves this, p l e a s e let me know. i have never written such debauchery, i need the validation.</p><p>edit 07/25/2020: this is a series now!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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